Eternity
by NayaFan16
Summary: They were best friends as kids, but time brought realities that tore them apart. Now Santana's the schools queen bee and Brittany's the girl no one notices. Perhaps fate can reunite them and get back to the good days.
1. Prologue

"How long is eternity?" pondered an eight year old Brittany.

Her best friend and partner in crime, the nine-year-old Santana, furrowed her brows together, either puzzled by the question or unsure of how to answer it.

"I heard Amelia talking on the phone yesterday to Kendall. She was all giggly and stuff; it was disgusting. She said she'd love some boy named Josh for all eternity," explained Brittany.

Santana accompanied her story with gagging noises. It was a globally known fact that boy crazy Amelia was, at thirteen, into the girly romance that sent Brittany and Santana's stomachs gurgling.

Brittany ignored Santana's outburst, quite accustomed to it by now. "She just loved Kevin last week! So I figured eternity can't be that long."

Santana looked at her doubtfully, deciding to provide her view on the whole situation. "But my mom said that when you get married it's for eternity. I know my grandparents have been married for longer than a week."

Brittany nodded, then said, "So that means an eternity is for how long you're married?"

Puckering out her bottom lip, Santana shook her head no. "Eternity is just a really long time."

Deciding that was a sufficient answer, Brittany grinned happily. Providing her next question, she asked "Do you think we'll be friends for all eternity?"

"Of course," stated Santana with conviction.

Her smiling broadening even more, Brittany spoke with a twinkling eye, "Then that settles it. Eternity is forever."

Santana matched Brittany's grin with one of her own. Soon the two began a swinging contest, seeing who could reach the highest. Pumping legs and hysterical laughter soon left their insightful conversation in the dust. After all, such questions were common of the duo and therefore looked upon with indifference.

Brittany's POV

That was how I spent my childhood, in the park two blocks away from my suburban home with my best friend Santana Lopez.

And by our definition of eternity, earth would currently be in a state of obsidian.

The ultimate downfall of our friendship cannot be surmised into one neat package.

Perhaps it started with the divorce of Santana's parents four years later, when she was thirteen. Her mother, who'd once spoke of love as eternity, decided one day that she'd had enough and walked out. She never looked back to see what she left behind a daughter who was so shattered by her abandonment that she gave up on the entire world. Even me.

But the blame does not lie solely on her shoulders. To say it did would make me a hypocrite. Despite her removal from me on a personal level, we still kept in contact and exchanged Christmas gifts each year.

That was until my mom was diagnosed with brain cancer when I was fourteen. After a yearlong courageous battle she passed away, leaving her heart broken family behind and a grandbaby that my sister had so desperately tried to have before my mother died. It was, in all reality, selfish of my sister to do that. But, Amelia always loved to be the first everything for my parents. Sadly, resentment formed from Amelia towards her beautiful baby because it failed to come into the world early enough for my dying mother to see. Even to this day, I still find it hard to blame Amelia for this hatred though. At the birth of her infant she was but twenty, still a child herself.

But crushed most of all by the departure of my mother was Dad. I have yet to see a man who ever loved a woman more.

Sometimes at night I would creep towards my father's room, feet padding quietly on the hardwood floor and sit outside his door, listening to his soft whimpers. He was strong and never cried in front of the children, not even at Mom's funeral.

But it is perhaps harder to be so strong at night, when the settling darkness reminds you of the empty coldness settled in the spot where the love of your life once dreamt peacefully.

The cute, childish questions I once asked incessantly soon stopped. The warmth and life of my house no longer existed without my mother. Even at fifteen I was forced to grow up faster than I was ready for. Being the only child in the house I took up the chores of laundry and meal making.

Soon I began to hide within myself and the fragile relationship Santana and I once shared went to tatters.

As children we saw ourselves as immortal and our friendship as an unbreakable bond.

And I suppose this is why I fail to call her up whenever my ear itches to hear her voice. It still fills me with bitterness to think that our friendship proved to be but a paper chain that tore easily from the pulls of reality.

But sometimes I think back to those carefree days, when my life was protected by the white picket fences. Sometimes I wish so dearly for one more chance with Santana.

While I became removed and silent by my tragedy, Santana chose a different path to mask her pain, parties and girls or boys depending on how she felt.

And now, when I pass her in the hall, she sees through me. I am as dead to her as her deserting mother.

At first this used to cut me deep and I would bleed a thousand tears. I am numb to it now; I am numb to everything.

I am numb to the fact that I love her, that I'm in love with her.

* * *

**New story! It's a working progress but I hope it's good!**

**This is the prologue so its not that long. I will be posting the first chapter soon today as well.**

**Enjoy and a review would be great to let me know what you think of how to improve. :)**


	2. Should we try to be social?

Brittany's POV

Slamming my locker shut, and then wincing at the clank of metal crashing into metal, I turned to great my sole friend, Beth. Don't worry though, I won't get into the sob story of how I lack the quota of peer-to-peer relationships necessary to shape me into a fine adult who will inevitably discover the cure for cancer or develop a Bio dome sufficient for lunar life.

But if you ask me, friendships are overrated.

Wait. I take that back.

Friendships _aren't_ overrated. Cliques are! They only serve to strengthen a group of people by conforming them under one goal, which is often the pursuit of those in the student body that they deem inferior.

Do you detect a hit of bitterness in my ranting?

Could this be because, perhaps, I am that alienated youth?

So I don't strategically plan my outfit each day, because it's difficult when you're working two jobs: student and housewife.

And who cares if my silent yet watchful demeanour gives some kids the willies. As my good friend Benjamin Franklin eloquently put it I'm only attempting to "avoid trifling conversation".

My estrangement from others began with my Mom's sickness. Kids get weird when they know someone whose parent has cancer. Adolescence is growing up, experiencing new things. It's life, not death. But a dying mother is the stamp of isolation.

Sorry guys, I can't go to the movies. I have to hold my mom's hand while she retches into the toilet. Not to say that I didn't want to be around my Mom, I just hated seeing her in that way.

I became obsessed with spending my final days by her side. School became just an afterthought; that included friends.

I guess that's why Beth is my only friend. She understands me, probably due to the fact that her mother is a hospice worker. 'The' hospice worker that cared for my mother in her final days.

I didn't even know that Beth went to the same school as I did when we were first introduced. Then one day while passing in the halls I realized why. This tall, beautiful girl, with warm chocolate eyes and hair to match, walked with shoulders hunched and eyes cast down in a fashion that made her as invisible as she felt.

Only once did I bring up this subject. Immediately her face clammed up, her body stiffened and I knew that was the end of the conversation. I guess some people don't like to talk about certain things. I should know best of all.

But right now I was in school, addressing Beth. "So what'd you want to do this weekend?" Being a Friday, and also a rare time in which my homework load would rate 'bearable' I had decided that I should in some way celebrate.

Sadly I really had no idea what people my age do for fun.

Apparently, neither did Beth. Her blank stare was a dead giveaway.

"Ugh! We're so pathetic!" I laughed.

"You could come over to my house and we could rent some movies to watch if you like," she offered.

Snorting, I replied, "Beth! That's what we do on a normal weekend. I want to do something different."

Frowning at me, she said, "Well a lot of people go to JJ's." She was referring to the 'cool' hangout, a café restaurant of sorts that allowed teen bands to sing open mike on Fridays. The café's willingness to allow these disharmonized, off-key bands to play wasn't so much a generous offer of them, as it was their resourceful planning to cater to the teenage dream of stardom. In exchange for a few earplugs, they received a heavy stream of coffee drinkers, looking for some fun on Friday night.

"I suppose. Pick me up at 8, I have to make dinner for my dad," I stated, affirming my decision to go. Beth looked hesitant, then nodded.

Smiling each other a good-bye we headed out of the school, towards our 48 hours of freedom.

Did I mention that we are people of few words?

* * *

Wringing my hands nervously, I sat outside in the crisp night air waiting for Beth. My father had been nonchalant about my going out tonight, not even bothering to give me a curfew. These days he was so removed that I could walk around with underwear on my head and socks over my hands and he wouldn't mention a thing, just as long as his meals were made on time.

I don't mean to complain, but I feel like such a maid.

He doesn't hold any sort of place in my life. If I want money then I get it from the stash in his office. If I need his signature, I give him the paper over dinner and he signs it. He doesn't care about my grades, or what's happening in my life.

It hurts.

The intrusive honk of Beth's car pulled me out of my self-pity. Hopping in the car, we rode to the café in silence. There wasn't a single thing to say.

When we arrived, my contorting stomach cried out for me to turn around and never enter that forbidden place. A social life wasn't destined for me.

"Well it's now or never," I chirped, ignoring the troublesome protests of my organs.

Beth offered a small smile, following in.

Because this wasn't the movies, when we entered, everyone in the room did not stop what they were doing to gawk at us, nor was the music cut off. In actuality, our grand entrance was kind of disappointing. I expected at least a few crude names tossed in my direction and one indignant look. Seeing the tenseness of Beth, stiff beside me, I patted her shoulder. "Relax. We're just here for some caffeine." But she failed to loosen at all.

Stepping behind her to align my sight with the direction she was currently casting her eyes; I was surprised to see her staring at Shay Kenneth.

But what really startled me was to see that he was returning her gaze.

Shay Kenneth.

Why was he looking at her? Most people were not even cognizant of her existence.

Grabbing her arm forcefully, I dragged her towards the girls' bathroom.

Grinning wildly, I asked, "So what was that all about."

Trying to downplay it all she replied indifferently, "Nothing."

"Oh puh-lease!" I cried out. "Why was he staring at you like that, so intently?"

Beth flushed. I'd hit a soft spot. "I really don't know. It's just that every time I walk by him he looks at me. And not just for a second. He stares," she concluded somewhat unnerved.

Intrigued, I pressed on. "When did this all start?"

Thinking for a moment, she said wistfully "A couple weeks ago. We were walking down the main stairs and he kind of stumbled forward. On impulse I grabbed his backpack to prevent him from tumbling down." She now grinned, her eyes completely alight. "I've never seen him blush before." At this, I laughed. It was true that Shay, one of the elite, rarely had reason to be embarrassed. He, in fact, strove to situate himself so that he was the centre of attention.

"Then what happened?"

Her smile fading she shrugged her shoulders. "He mumbled a 'thanks' then took off towards his next class, I guess."

"But now he watches you all the time," I completed for her.

"Yeah." She said.

I planned on evaluating each piece of that occurrence, in order to deduce the basis of Shay's staring. That was until a masculine voice called out, "Santana, You made it!"

Oh no.

She was here.

I should have figured that she'd make an appearance. This was where the "cool" people chose to present themselves.

Turning from Beth to catch a glimpse of my former companion, I inhaled deeply, the air whistling through my teeth. She looked so wonderful, happy. I doubted that any of her friends knew what a false façade she presented them with.

Shay got up to give her a tight hug, and then the two headed towards the saved table. A group of about fifteen sat merrily around it making jokes, smiling, laughing, gossiping, whatever. A pang of jealously penetrated the defensive wall I'd built.

Now it was Beth's turn to comfort. What a pair we were. Two girls with no one but each other. Excluded and quiet, our constitutions denied us the acceptance we secretly desired, but would never admit to.

Taking a seat at a small table far from the world of popularity, I sipped silently at my Vanilla Steamer.

"You're not over her are you." It was a statement, not a question. And it was true.

"How do you get over someone who was such a prominent figure in your life? I'll always miss her, just like I'll always miss my mother," I answered.

That was my excuse.

I was simply incapable of overcoming the past.

"You don't have to forget her, or your mother for that matter, to move on."

Angered, I hissed at her, "Geez! I only looked at her Beth, not proclaimed my undying love."

She was used to my outbreaks. I often projected my repressed anger at her, unjustly. She stuck with me anyways.

Unaffected by my outburst she replied, "My advice still stands."

"Thanks," I said, calm now.

We went back to a state of quietude, both contemplating our peculiar, non-existent relationships. After finishing our drinks and deciding that hanging out at JJ's wasn't fun, despite popular belief, we headed out.

First, Beth had to use the bathroom.

While I waited, someone totally unexpected approached me.

Shay.

"Hey."

Looking at him startled, I squeaked out a "hi."

"So um, what's your friend's name?"

"Beth," I answered.

He gave me a half smile, running a hand through his bed head hair.

"Thanks."

And that was all.

He left, and Beth came out of the restroom, totally clueless to the exchange we'd had. I decided not to say a thing. Things like this should fall on their own accord.

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**Here's Chapter 1**

**Read and review :)**

**Hope you like it!**


	3. What happens on a sick day

**Thank you all for the response I got for this story and all the follows and favourites! I appreciate it so much. I hope you all like this chapter! There's still only a little Brittany and Santana in this chapter but it's slowly developing, I mean if I just jumped straight into it I wouldn't have a story would I. I promise that there will be more Brittana as the story progresses. Anyway here's the next chapter!**

* * *

I arrived home late that night. Beth's car had a flat tire that we'd had to fix. My dad was waiting up for me when I came in. We looked at each other, not saying a word, and then he tiredly got up from his chair and went to bed. No "hello", no "why the hell are you home so late", nothing. Under normal circumstances one would get the impression that my father does not care about me. Under normal circumstances one would overlook the fact that he stayed up to make sure I arrived safely home.

These days I have to search for clues that he cares. I'm very alert when it comes to his actions.

"Goodnight," I whispered in the direction of his retreating form, my words sounding hollow in the stale air of the house.

* * *

On Monday Beth wasn't at school, probably faking sickness. Her mother, being a nurse, was always aware of her daughter's little act, but she let Beth skip school anyways. She was cool like that. However, with Beth gone, I was left stranded to eat lunch alone.

I decided to head to the library. I'd spent a semester last year as an assistant to Mrs. Biggs, the librarian, so she allowed me special privileges. She had also been a close friend of my mother, who'd been a kindergarten teacher and Mrs. Biggs the librarian at my old elementary school.

"Hey Mrs. Biggs," I greeted her, as she sat behind her desk reading diligently at a novel that looked like she was on the final chapter with.

"Hello darling. There's some chocolate cake in the back from one of the library assistant's birthdays if you'd like a piece." She smiled at me, her silver eyes glittering similar to the fashion that her gray hair shone.

"Oh thanks!" I responded enthused. I absolutely, one hundred percent, love chocolate. Any kind, milk, dark, white, with almonds, with coconut, send it my way. Grabbing an enormous slice, and then heading to one of the worktables to eat, I planned on getting ahead on reading 'To kill a mockingbird', for English class.

The slap of a hand on the table I sat quietly at startled me out of my chair. A strong pair of arms stopped my fall to my gratitude.

Turning around I saw Shay grinning from ear to ear and my hand twitched to slap him silly. Raising an eyebrow and narrowing my eyes, I said, "Yes?"

He handed me a crudely folded sheet of notebook paper, but I didn't touch it.

"Can you give this to your friend…Beth?" he said, adding her name like an afterthought.

Still feeling miffed from his intrusion on my reading, I responded icily, "Give it to her yourself. I'm not her personal aid." Then I folded my arms across my chest to reaffirm my decision.

Shay looked at me surprised, but not warded off. "Please?" he begged. I shook my head. "She wouldn't want a note from a coward anyways." Getting up from my seat, I collected my trash then bid a good-bye to Mrs. Biggs.

He followed me, and with him, multiple pairs of eyes did also by the spectacle of him chasing after a girl. For Shay, it was usually the other way around.

"Come on Brittany, why won't you give it to her?" he called out, clearly exhausted and frustrated.

I halted.

He knew my name? We'd never spoken before his current infatuation with Beth. I guess it stunned me into stillness.

I know, I know. It wasn't anything. Just my name. Hundreds of people had used it before. But with few friends, and a father who doesn't speak to me, I rarely hear my name anymore. So when it comes out of someone's mouth, it's like the sweetest melody, reminding me that I do exist and other people know it. Kind of crazy, isn't it?

I couldn't keep these thoughts from exploding outside of me. "You know my name?"

He stared at me like I was a lunatic. "Yeah," he said slowly. "You were best friends with Santana when you guys were little right? She talks about it." He shrugged, like it was no big deal at all. And to him, it wasn't. But to me, this was the greatest headline ever presented in the news. Santana talked about me. That could only mean that she thought about me.

Santana thought about me!

I made a mistake to react this way, however. Shay wasn't stupid, and he jumped at the bait. Now he had something on me, my feelings for Santana. For I'm sure that everything I was thinking at this moment was written clear as day upon my face.

"Right," I replied nonchalant.

"So will you give Beth the note?" he pressed.

"Fine," I muttered, defeated. He handed it to me, and then walked off.

"Jerk," I whispered to myself. A quiet laughter from behind made me turn around to see who dared to poke fun at me. Thinking wildly of some witty retort to toss at the person, all coherent thought was wiped away when I saw who it was.

Santana.

Had she heard everything Shay and I exchanged? Had she seen my face when Shay told me that she still talked about me?

I stared at her, utterly flabbergasted. It was so frustrating that she could do that to me.

"Hello, Brittany," she said to me, an uncertain smile playing delicately upon her lips.

I didn't respond. I glared. I was angry and I didn't want this to happen. I wasn't ready to talk to her again. Everything has been so ambiguous since Mom died.

I watched as her face darkened, hurt or maybe repulsed at the realization that she was talking to me. I watched as she turned and walked away from me, my heart steadying its pace. I watched as she came to an abrupt stop, turned around and stomped back towards me.

I remained silent as she yelled in my face, "Why are you like this?" crazily at me, like I was the cause of the problem.

"What do you mean?" I mumbled, finally speaking out, albeit meekly.

Her brows furrowed. She was frustrated, but she looked so gorgeous like that, a child who hadn't gotten her way.

Self-consciously I tucked a stray curl behind my ear. When I looked back at Santana's face, it had softened. She was gazing at my hair almost longingly, the way an old woman looks at the youth of a child. Not with jealousy but with fondness, an ancient memory.

Her chestnut brown eyes darted to meet mine as we stared at each other.

When she finally spoke it felt like shattered glass painfully slicing the silence. "There's a party in a couple of weeks at Quinn's house. You should come." With that she walked off, not even bothering with a goodbye.

That was…surreal.

* * *

I drove to Beth's house after school that day, impatient to see what Shay had written in the note to her.

"Sick?" I asked her sarcastically when she answered the door. She grinned at me then led me up to her room. I knew she wasn't.

"So I have something for you," I told her.

"Set in on my desk will you?" She probably figured it was homework.

"Okay," I chirped and jumped off her bed to place it on her old beaten up desk.

She turned around when she didn't hear the sound of a stack of papers plopping down. A mysterious look settled in her eyes when she saw the note, obviously folded by a boy.

"Give it to me," Beth demanded. I handed the note to her while simultaneously settling down on her floral covered bed.

"It's from Shay," I added when she began to read intensely.

Once she had finished reading it, she held the note to her heart, speechless.

"So what'd it say?" I pressed.

"He thanked me for catching him on the stairs. He said he was too embarrassed to tell me in person. He also said that he thinks I'm beautiful and he wants to take me on a date."

My mouth gaped open. Granted, Beth was indeed beautiful, it surprised me to hear Shay say that. I'd always figured him for the bubbly, big-boobed, airhead type. You know, the kind that presents herself as a perfect make out companion before realizing she'd only been used to settle some guy's bestial urges. I'd never take him for the dark, silent, intellectual kind.

"So are you going to say yes?" I probed.

She looked at me, uncertain. "I don't think so. It's probably all some bet or game he's got going with his friends to see if he can make the outcast fall for him."

I laughed at her way of thinking. "Beth that only happens in movies. It's more likely that he is, in fact, interested in you and he believes that a date would be the perfect opportunity to get to know you." The look on her face still doubtful, I added, "I think you should go," as if my expert opinion would be the swaying factor between date and no date.

She sat there contemplating until I could take it no longer. "Did he give you his number?"

"Yeah," she replied. I grabbed the note from her tight clasp and dialled the number on her cell. Handing the phone to her I said, "Here, talk to him." "No!" she gasped, pushing the phone towards me.

When a curious, muffled voice started shouting out hello, I picked up the phone and asked, "Hey is Shay there?" "Just one moment," came a juvenile voice I assumed to be his sister's.

"Hello?" came a rough greeting. It was then that I betrayed my friend by shoving the phone to her ear. "He-hello," she said timidly into the receiver. "It's Beth, from school."

She gave a small laugh at whatever Shay said.

"Well I don't know…." Beth trailed off.

"I-I just don't know you that well," she rationalized.

"I know," she muttered.

"Well if we did that, then I guess I'd be willing to go."

"Okay then. Seven? All right. I have 'the' friend over right now, so I need to go. I'll see you later." She gently hung up the phone then looked at me with pleading eyes.

Confused, I asked, "So?"

"Because you're my best friend you'd be willing to do almost anything for me right?" she said pleadingly

"_Almost_ anything," I emphasized.

"Right," she nodded. "See I agreed to go on a date with Shay on the grounds that it would be a double date. He said he had a friend who'd be willing to go with us: him, me, you," I raised a brow when she said I'd be part of this fiasco, "and…Santana." She finished.

My jaw dropped. "No way Beth! You're my best friend. I'd do many, things for you, but not this."

"Please Brittany!" she pleaded.

"No! Santana and I aren't…we're not friends anymore."

Her puppy-dog eyes nearly had me agreeing to go. "But Brittany, you still really like her. This could be your chance to rectify things. Plus, Shay made it sound like Santana wanted to go on a date with you. Maybe she still likes you."

"Doubtful Beth, highly doubtful." I spat out at her.

"Oh come on. You made me call Shay. Now it's payback! You have to go whether or not you agree. I already told Shay that I'd go with him and he's calling Santana to tell her that you're going too. How would you look to call things off?"

I shook my head before putting it in my hands. "You suck!" I whined.

"I love you too baby." She giggled back happy that I was going even though I was reluctant.

Oh Lord above, what had I gotten myself into?

* * *

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	4. Double date

**Originally I wrote this as two separate chapters, but I merged them into one instead of ending one chapter halfway through the date. I don't know if I'm the only one but I know I get annoyed when I read a really interesting chapter of a story then you have to wait for an update to find out the rest of what happens. So I thought I'd post the whole date as one long chapter so no one is waiting for anything and I'll let you lot be the judge of weather it's interesting.**

* * *

The date was edging closer. I could feel it in the air, in my body, in my mind. Everything I saw was a reminder of the approaching apocalypse. When Mrs. Whiteman, my English teacher, sauntered into class one day with her skirt on sideways, the sight triggered thoughts of dressing up, dates, Santana and I, this Friday at seven.

I was becoming obsessed.

I also made sure that Beth suffered right along with me. My greetings to her in the morning now consisted of, "You are the devil's advocate, and I am his slave."

This only served to make her laugh, but at least my sentiments in regards to this compulsory date were not left ambiguous.

"It won't be that bad Britt. I think you might actually have a little fun. At the very least, you won't have to try to stare secretly at Santana anymore. As her date, I think you have an unwritten right to give her lustful gazes," Beth smirked at me.

Hmm…

She's teasing me and being witty. I don't think I've ever seen her in such light spirits before. It must be because of Shay. Having someone that's attractive, funny and popular tell you you're beautiful and then go as far as to ask you on a date had to be a considerable boost to one's self-esteem. I know that I would be incredibly flattered if such things happened to me!

And I swear that has no relation to Santana whatsoever.

My original intention was to poke fun at Beth for acting like a lovesick schoolgirl. However, I was interrupted by a snotty intrusion.

"Excuse me, are you Brittany?" It was Kitty, no Katherine, or maybe Kristin…whatever. It was one of the 'Cheerios'.

I looked at her blankly for a moment, just to be annoying, and then responded casually, "Yeah." I turned my back to her, signifying the end of the conversation.

Either she was too dense to realize this, or felt she was the authority on when a discussion concluded, because she continued to talk to me, in that same snotty tone. I had an urge to ask if she needed a tissue, but bit my tongue. There was no sense in inviting a catfight.

"So you're the little tart who Santana is going out with this Friday, instead of accompanying me on my father's yacht."

Did she just call me a tart?

Curiously, I gave Beth a bemused look. She mouthed back 'slut', to explain what Kristin-something had meant.

Uh, okay…

"Oh, I'm sorry," I gushed, my words void of any plausibility. "See, I didn't see your name written on her, so I wasn't aware that she was your territory." With that I walked off. She really wasn't worth the breath.

Maybe that wasn't the best thing to say, if the clawed grasp on my arm wasn't evidence enough. Kristin swung me around harshly and my shoulder banged painfully against the metal lockers. Wincing, I covered my face from any frontal assault. Surprisingly none came.

When I dared to peak my eyes open, I saw a detained Kristin attempting to wriggle out of the steel clench of Shay. An observant Santana stood not far away, studying the spectacle with a confused, definitely intrigued look. I shook my head disbelievingly.

"Thanks Shay," I mumbled. He nodded his head at me, still trying to keep back a feisty Kristin. She growled deeply at me as I walked past.

"You could've just asked, asked if there was anything going on between me and Santana," I stated simply to her. "I would've said no," I finished, now staring intently at Santana and she raised a wry eyebrow at me.

Not wanting to be in this situation for a moment longer, I gestured to Beth to leave with me.

As I stormed past Santana, I spat venomously at her, "You need to de-claw your cat before I call animal control." She didn't even have enough time to respond before all she could do was eat my dust.

The double date was in two days. It's a good thing I made sure to add uneasiness to an already awkward situation.

Great job, Brittany.

You should work in politics.

It was later that day when Quinn, girl of the hippest parties or something like that, approached me. I've never had so many popular people talk to me in one day. Normally, I would have felt flattered, if it hadn't been for the small detail that these divine encounters involved scratching my eyes out.

"Hey Brittany," Quinn said, a bit nervously.

What does she have to be nervous about? I was the one assaulted only hours ago, for reasons beyond my control!

I gave her a skeptical glare. "You're not here to beat me to death are you?"

So it wasn't the friendliest of greetings. How was I supposed to know whether or not Quinn had a burning passion for Santana too? She could be taking the furry of her unrequited feelings out on me. Although, Quinn never struck me as the kind of person to do that. Still…

She laughed musically at my words. You had to admit, she was beautiful, her silky blonde hair hung just below her shoulders and her emerald green eyes were so exquisite, one hated to look away from such splendor. And on the upside, she didn't act like a conceited brat, contrary to the temperament of most her friends.

"I'm not here to beat you up," she let out.

Unconsciously, I relaxed.

"But I do want to talk to you about Santana," Quinn added. My eyes darted around, securing that there were no other people around. She noticed this and said, "We're alone, don't worry."

I gave her a lop-sided, embarrassed smile.

"So anyways, I hear that you're going out with Santana this Friday."

I nodded to confirm that fact.

"Right. And I couldn't help myself from being a bit curious…" she trailed off. So she was here to soothe the rumors, or perhaps to create some.

"We're not dating or anything. I haven't even talked to her for two years. We were friends once, that's all. Not anymore. Shay asked my best friend Beth out, but she's too timid to go on a date with him alone. He suggested they go on a double date. Santana and I were just sucked into this catastrophe." I finished my explanation with a sigh; it came out more shuddered than I would have cared for it to.

Quinn just sat there for a moment. I think I saw a bit of disappointment in her eye. She was probably expecting some revelation of some sort of secrets.

All of a sudden her demeanour changed. Grabbing my hand excitedly she enthused, "You and Beth should come shopping with me, get you something real nice to wear for your dates."

"I don't know," I said.

"Come on! It'll be fun. I promise." She looked at me with expectant eyes.

"All right," I exhaled, not a bit pleased.

"Wonderful," Quinn said with a shake of her shoulders. "And I promise not to bring Kitty," she winked at me.

So that's her name.

Quinn walked out into the parking lot, leaving me to chuckle while I sought out Beth.

So that's how I got here, a day later, in a dress shop full of clothing either too revealing or too expensive for me.

* * *

Beth was delighted to go shopping with Quinn. She'd always been more of a girly-girl than me.

"What do you think of this one?" Quinn asked, fluttering about the shop with a flurry only an experienced shopper would have.

I raised my eyebrow at the dress she held.

"Perhaps a little too low," I laughed.

She looked at me puzzled. "No it's not!"

By now, Beth was appraising the dress as well. "I think you should try it on," she added.

"Fine!" I said, with a roll of my eyes. Harshly grabbing the dress, and receiving a disapproving glare from the sales lady, I thudded ungracefully to the changing rooms.

Inside the spacious room I no longer had to keep up my act. Secretly, I loved the dress. But I didn't want either of the girls to know that, for reasons I don't know why.

"Do you have it on yet?" came Quinn's impatient call. "Come out and model it for us."

"Hold your horses, I'm working on it," I snapped back.

Finally getting the dress on, I didn't even give myself the glance over before sweeping outside the room. Beth looked a bit shocked, and Quinn looked perfectly delighted.

"Oh my gosh!, you look SO beautiful Brittany," Quinn gushed.

The sales clerk began her approach towards me, sensing a purchase.

"I guess," I trailed on, suppressing my grin.

They were right I did look good. And I really hate saying things like that, because it makes me sound immodest. But the black dress, with wide set straps, hung slimly on my body, billowing at the mid calf skirt. I was surprised to see that it didn't hit too low on my chest. At least I wouldn't have to worry about Santana's only interest in me during the date being my rack.

"I think I'll get it," I declared.

There was a collective sigh.

Did I mention that we'd been to ten different shops already?

Beth had bought her dress six shops ago. On the other hand, I'd played the difficult shopper, leaving a trail of annoyed clerks in my wake.

"Finally!" laughed Beth.

"Yeah, finally," I agreed.

* * *

The night of the date Beth came over to my house so we could beautify ourselves together. We were picked up here, since Santana already knew where I lived.

"Are you sure we're supposed to dress up?" I asked for the umpteenth time.

Grabbing my shoulders and gazing me straight in the eye, Beth said slowly, "Yes Britt. Shay said to wear something nice."

"Oh okay," I uttered, shaking from her grasp. "How should I wear my hair?"

Beth pondered for a moment before saying, "Down and straight. Santana likes it that way."

I gaped at my best friend. "How would you know?"

She smirked. I didn't like that look on her; it gave me the heebie-jeebies.

"Well," I pressed, eager to learn what she had to say.

"Shay told me," she said simply.

I jumped like a cow with a hot poker on its arse.

"What!"

Beth began to explain between fits of giggles, "I talked to Shay the other day. I told him how you were nervous about going with Santana since it'd been over two years since you guys last talked." At this point Beth was avoiding the death glare I sent her.

"You told Shay that!" I gasped. "Betthh…"

She silenced me with a sharp hiss. "Let me finish, alright?" Settling herself on the bed she continued, "So Shay told me that Santana was kind of anxious about the date too. And you know how conversations rabbit trail…anyways; Shay said that Santana once told him that she'd always loved your hair. She thought your blonde silkiness was so elegant and stuff." Beth shrugged, signifying that she didn't recall any more of the conversation.

By now I was grinning manically.

And I couldn't help myself; I began dancing around the room. This sent Beth into another set of hysterics.

The doorbell buzzed impatiently, pulling me back to earth.

"Ohmygosh! They're here!" I screamed stupidly.

"Duh," Beth added, though her voice lacked any jest.

Peering at her, I saw her wring her hands apprehensively.

"It'll be okay."

Grabbing her hand and my purse, I trudged down the hall towards the front door.

When I opened it up, Shay grinned boyishly at Beth and me. Santana stood down the porch steps, not even bothering to say hello.

"Let's go!" I said, filling the awkward silence.

As we walked towards Shay's jeep, I took the opportunity to check out both Shay and Santana.

Shay wore a black button down shirt, open at the collar and sleeves rolled up. It set his slight tan off just dandily, and accented his signature sandy-brown bed-head hair. He matched the shirt with some nice, faded denim jeans that hung loosely at his narrow hips.

I gave Beth an approving glance, wiggling my eyebrows and causing her to blush.

Santana turned back for a second at the sound of my soft laughter. I swear her eyes twinkled for a moment, before she resumed her direction towards the vehicle.

I had to admit that she looked pretty damn good too. She wore a tight pair of dark blue skinny jeans, with a white crystal encrusted long sleeved top and her signature half cut leather jacket. She was definitely dressed down compared to the rest of us, but I surely wouldn't be first to complain! She looked good in pretty much anything.

Shay insisted that Beth sit up front with him, so Santana and I got stuck in the back. The whole situation left me with sticky, sweaty palms. Hopefully we wouldn't hold hands tonight.

Yeah right, in my dreams.

"So where are we headed," I asked no one in particular.

"Secret," replied Shay.

I rolled my eyes, which Shay noticed in the rear view mirror. He gave me a piercing look in response.

Throwing my hands up, I sighed. "Fine, fine. I'll see when we get there."

I'd be eating my words forty five minutes later when we still hadn't arrived at our destination.

"Um…" I began.

"You'll see," urged Shay, not even letting me finish my thought.

Santana laughed quietly beside me but I didn't bother to acknowledge her.

Staring intently at the back of Beth's head, I noticed that she seemed to be quite happy, sitting silently beside Shay. I leaned forward slightly to see Shay's hand resting fondly on her knee. It wasn't a forward gesture, just one that connoted he had feelings for her.

I couldn't help the pang of jealousy pounding its way through my chest.

Oh cruel fate. Why must I be sitting mere inches away from my affections, attaining through her stiff posture that she does not administer kindred sentiment?

Perhaps I should write a poem. Where better passion than in a love torn soul?

Unfortunately my poem would have to wait, as we had arrived at our destination, a small restaurant along the lakefront. The building was trimmed in twinkling white lights.

"This is so adorable," gushed Beth. Those were the first words she had said all evening.

"Yeah," I agreed. A gentle breeze tickled my skin, causing me to shudder. Any chill was wiped away at the sensation of a warm palm atop my shoulder. I refused to look back at Santana in surprise, hoping that in doing so, she would keep her hand there.

"Would you guys like to sit outside?" Shay asked.

Beth nodded her head enthusiastically. Early spring was her favourite time of the year, and she liked nothing better than to dawdle outside.

Seeing her excitement prevented me from voicing my opinion. Unlike the others, I had neither long sleeves nor a jacket.

My problem was quickly squelched when Santana quickly shed her jacket and placed it around my shoulders.

I smiled gratefully at her, but said nothing.

It just felt better not to.

* * *

We were seated near the lakeshore, a gentle lapping of water accompanying our meal. I was, however, unable to absorb the beauty of my surroundings as a result of Santana's nearness. The heat radiating from her leg near mine curled its way around my calf. Consequentially I kept shifting, trying to shake that taunting feeling. I'm sure the entire table wondered why I'd developed this sudden tick, although the smirk on Santana's lips told me differently.

The dinner went by silently, apart from Shay interjecting random questions to stop the awkwardness. I played along in good humor, trying to remain oblivious to Beth's pointed looks, telling me she knew I was only pretending.

After the meal, Shay politely asked Beth to dance, joining the otherwise elderly couples on the patterned wooden floor. Smiling fondly at the duo, a grinning Shay and flustered Beth, I soon realized the uncomfortable situation that I was in. I peeked a gaze at Santana and was startled to find her staring intently at me. She seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.

I was feeling a bit feisty so I matched her gaze head on. Unconsciously we began a staring contest but who would succumb to the itching of dry eyes and dare to blink. We'd played this game a ton of times as kids. Even then I had secretly loved the competition, on account of the fact that I could stare into her gorgeous, brown eyes. I always wondered if she felt the same way, staring into my sparkling blue eyes.

Needless to say, I lost, every time.

But at least we'd lightened the mood a bit. My heart was no longer on a rampage. Or at least it wasn't beating an irregular pattern similar to a person suffering from cardiac arrest.

"Just to clear things up a bit," Santana said, breaking the silence. "I only agreed to go on this date because of Shay. For some reason he seems to like that friend of yours a lot," She explained, a clueless undertone to her voice.

Normally I would have been extremely wounded by her admission of her reluctance to go on the date with me, if it'd not been for the fact that I had mirrored her same feelings towards tonight's dinner.

Plus, she had just totally dissed my best friend. "Yeah, because it's so unbelievable that a guy like Shay could ever want to date a girl like Beth, right?" I accentuated her name, to point out that she was more than just a friend of mine; she was a person with real feelings. And they just happened to be for Shay. Heaven forbid he returns them.

It's not as if I would know what that felt like!

Santana picked up on my irritation. Running a shaking hand through her hair she responded, "Well yeah." She started to say something else, but stopped at the sight of my gaping mouth.

"What's so wrong with Beth?" I shouted, receiving a curious look from the neighbouring table. "If I remember correctly, 'un-cool' people like her used to be best friends with 'superior' people like you." I was, of course, no longer referring to Beth anymore and Santana knew it. I could tell in the way her eyes darkened, like rain clouds rolling over a once calm, clear sky.

"Your right, but we were only kids. It's not like we knew any better," she said to me, her eyes staring at her fiddling hands underneath the table.

I winced; my heart aching like she'd just took her dinner knife, reached across the table and stabbed me. But she didn't stop there. No, she had to turn it too. "If you're the one with such a great memory, then how come you don't recall being the one to end things between us? You called it off," she accused.

"Oh and like that's even the point," I tried to snap back, but my voice choked instead.

I decided that it'd be better if I left the table and headed for the bathroom before I made a scene. There had been enough drama in my life for the week. No wait, make that for the year. Plus, my eyes had frustratingly begun to water.

A quick reach of the hand prevented me from going anywhere. I revelled in its warmth and softness.

Santana looked at me full of concern, the hurricane completely gone.

"I'm sorry," she admitted. "I didn't mean to go off on you like that."

"Okay," I replied badly. Apologizing had always been extremely difficult for her as a kid. I didn't think that as a teenager, it was any easier for her either.

"Let's just dance," she offered. "I don't want to upset Shay and Beth on their first date. It'd be horrible if I messed things up for them."

Oh, but it's okay to upset me? If Beth and Shay were scratched out of the picture, would you have even asked me for forgiveness?

She led me onto the dance floor and pulled me close, closer to her than I'd been in years. She smelled fresh, like Vanilla cocoa butter my favourite scent in the entire world. Because it reminded me of…her.

And all of a sudden I forgot about being mad at her.

All I could think about was her arms wrapped around my waist and the unusual feeling flooding its way through my body. I'm sure I flushed top to bottom at that very moment.

I have no idea how long we stood there, barely moving in tantalizingly slow circles but a tap on my shoulder tore me out of this heaven.

"You guys want to go for a walk?" asked Shay, a grin spreading cheek to cheek. I didn't like that knowing glint to his eye. Beth held it too.

"Sure," I responded, trying to hide my disappointment. I didn't want Santana to think I was gaga for her, though I'd probably made that point crystal clear already.

We walked along the path. Beth and Shay led the way, their fingertips slightly touching. When we reached the water I decided to be brave and take off my shoes. "You shouldn't walk barefoot. There are probably broken beer bottles around here," Santana warned.

"Yes Mom!" I teased, running ahead. I gave Beth a smack on the shoulder as I rushed by her, my dress flapping behind me. Little flecks of dirt spattered the back of my legs.

I was young again. Careless, happy, free.

The sounds of stomping soon followed me and gradually grew closer. Adrenaline raced through my body as I surged forward, determined not to be caught. However, my bare feet and burning lungs betrayed me, as I was swept up in the air and spun around for good measure. We landed with a thump onto a grassy bank and I couldn't help it, a gush of laughter burst from within me.

Combined with my recent sprint, I was soon gasping for breath and clenching my throbbing stomach.

As my giggling died down, I noticed I was the only one laughing. So I rolled onto my side to peer at Santana. She lay there with her eyes closed and a smile dancing across her mouth. The chummy position we were in allowed me to see every beautiful feature of her face. I was near enough to kiss her if I only leaned down a bit…

"Where are you guys?" came Shay's booming voice. I could hear Beth laughing quietly beside him.

"Over here," called Santana, now opening her eyes. She seemed surprised to find me inched closer to her so I rolled away embarrassed.

"Your dress is probably filthy," claimed Beth.

I shrugged. "Who cares? It's only a dress after all."

"Attagirl," Shay approved, slapping my back in a masculine manner.

"Thanks," I drawled out.

"Shall we continue with our walk?" inquired Shay, presenting an arm for Beth to grab onto.

Once again they strode ahead.

I was unable to find any words to say to Santana. We'd fought and regressed, but now what?

"Do you ever miss being a kid?" she pondered.

"Yeah," I replied honestly, wondering where that question had come from. "I mean, who doesn't?"

She smiled back at me, patting my head gently so I stuck my tongue out and panted like a dog. When she laughed, a wonderful sensation coursed through me. It was strange. How Santana could make me feel so amazing, and with the drop of a hat make me feel like a complete and utter fool. I wondered how she had ever received so much control over my emotions. Especially since we hadn't even been friends for the past two years. I always wished that I'd been able to move past her. Yet another part of me was glad I didn't.

Because as long as I still held on, there was hope that Santana would come back.

What's that they say? If you really love something, love it enough to let it go. If it comes back it's yours forever. And if it doesn't, then it was never really yours to begin with.

As we walked that starry evening, I couldn't help but beg of Santana silently, 'Come back to me. Please, come back.'

But she'd never hear my words.

Instead I opted to say, "So what's up with you and Kitty?"

She cringed.

"Real fond of her are you?" I teased, poking her side.

"No, not really." Came my reply.

"You know, you could've been with her on 'daddy's yacht'" I said with an arrogant tone.

Santana smirked at me. "Yeah. But this is…" she trailed off.

This is what?

Better?

Worse?

I wanted to tackle her, in order to find out.

"San…." I began, but was quieted when she placed a single finger over my mouth. My eyes widened. If I just made a little smacking sound then I'd be kissing it. Kissing her finger. That's only one step away from her lips, right?

"Shhh," she said to me. Then she pointed, taking her elegant finger away, and directing it towards our fellow couple.

"I can't see anything," I whispered in her ear.

I swear she shuddered at the gentle breeze of my words.

Santana grabbed my hands and pulled me quietly behind a tree. Misinterpreted thoughts danced through my head, but were quickly squelched when she gestured again at Beth and Shay. "See?" she grinned all girly.

I did see now. Shay appeared to be brushing Beth's hair behind her ear, while his other hand held her face. And ever so gently he leaned down to place a soft, swift caress upon her lips. My face burned slightly at the sight. Impulsively I reached out and pulled Santana away from watching them.

"They should have their privacy," I told her. I think there was more jealousy in my words than I had originally intended. She nodded and then sat down in the grass.

"So…" I began.

Santana looked at me. Tilting her head to one side, she probed, "Why didn't our friendship last?"

This was a question I had pondered many a time, but suddenly all my well thought out explanations abandoned me. So instead, I remained mute.

"I mean I know the reasons why. My mother leaving, your mother…leaving. That night, at the hospital," she described with a wave of her hand. "But, geez Brit, we were friends for ten years. Why'd we just let it disappear?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "Things happen. People change, they desert you. Or maybe you push them away. But that doesn't really matter; the point is in our reactions. Do you fight to keep the person that leaves? Do they struggle to keep you, when you've turned your back? In our case the answer was no. So there's your solution," I concluded with a heavy sigh. "We just didn't care enough."

When I turned my gaze to Santana, I saw that she wasn't looking at me. In fact, she was staring at anything but me: a tree, the stars, her shoes, some grass, a dead bug.

She finally spoke, very gently. "Maybe that's how you felt, Brittany. But not me." And then she looked at me intensely.

What was she searching for?

Perhaps my falsity, because if she investigated deep enough, she'd find it. The lie that I didn't care about our friendship, because I did.

I did, I did, I did, I did, I did.

"I was just afraid," she finished, her voice barely auditable.

My eyes filled with tears, and quietly I sniffled.

"You guys ready to go?" asked Shay, interrupting us yet again.

"Mmm hmmm," answered Santana.

"Alright then, let's blow this Popsicle stand." He stated.

Beth and I exchanged a glance, before bursting into hysterics.

The rest of the ride back was speechless for everyone, although Beth and Shay continued to make googly eyes at each other.

* * *

When we arrived at my house Santana asked to use the bathroom. I knew this was just to allot the other couple some time to be alone.

"You know where it is," I said, while trying to peek out the curtain.

"Aren't you the one who said they deserve privacy?" she snapped.

I glared at her, while turning back to watch.

She grabbed me back, and I squeaked unattractively. "Come on. I don't remember where the toilets are!"

Begrudgingly I showed her and by the time I was done, Beth was sitting on the living room couch looking star struck. She smiled happily at me, which I returned.

A flush announced Santana's presence.

"Shay's waiting in the car," explained Beth.

"Okay," Santana simply replied.

I followed her to the door in order to lock it after she left.

"So can we be friends? Try to patch things up?" she asked of me, a tad nervously.

"I guess." I replied knowing deep down that there was no real reason for us not to try and fix things between us.

"Goodnight then," she smiled at me.

As I went to shut the door, a hand prevented me from completing the task. "Brittany?"

"Yeah?" I brightened. She had more to say.

"Can I get my jacket back?" she asked with a slight smile spread across her face.

"Oh," I responded, deflated. "Here."

She reached into the pocket of the coat I'd just returned and pulled out something wrapped in a shiny packet. "Thank you for a wonderful night," she said, gently placing the gift into my hand.

I closed the door behind her before looking to see what she had presented me with.

It was a bite size Hershey's dark chocolate.

My favourite.

* * *

**Read, review and enjoy! :)**


	5. Memory lane

**Heyy guys! As always thanks for the reviews and all the new follows and favourites, you guys are awesome! **

**Thanks to JJLives, kkkkDy, brittana-is-wanky21 and all the guests that have reviewed the story so far, glad you all liked the date last chapter. If anyone was wondering what Santana was going on about when she referred to ****_that night at the hospital _****here it is for ya!**

* * *

I lie awake that night, unable to put my racing mind to rest. Reoccurring thoughts of the date danced jeeringly through my head. To my surprise, it was not Santana's unexpected sweetness that I kept playing then rewinding then replaying over and over again. Instead, it was one specific comment she'd made, which brought a tidal wave of old feelings. To say the least, I was drowning.

It was like those people who save everything, hoarders I believe they're called. They constantly shove stuff in their closet, never thinking to organize or filter out the useless junk. Then one day, they go to retrieve something, like I did when I rekindled my friendship with Santana, and _bam_, all the mess of years past comes tumbling down. That's what happened to me. I was toppled by rusty emotions and seasoned memories, but worst of all, by skeletons that I thought had been buried.

That's the trouble with holding on; you get a lot of unwanted baggage. And it just encumbers you, prevents you from moving on. Yet ironically, you're the one who chooses to carry this deadweight around. You're the one who has to suffer the load and even though you know it would be so much easier to just discard these painful hindrances, you tug them along anyways. Because something inside insists that one day you might need this excess paraphernalia.

This was exactly why I held onto my past relationship with Santana so dearly. Because I knew, deep down, that we would become companions again. And I was right. But now, like I said, I'm battling skeletons from my hoarded closet.

That is what Santana did to me. She encased me with her crisp scent, her mesmeric actions, and her entrancing words. I was covered, dependent on her life source to breathe my existence.

At least, that's how it felt.

And those words, which I kept reiterating during my sleepless night: "Why didn't our friendship last? I mean I know the reasons why. My mother leaving, your mother…leaving. That night, at the hospital. But, geez Britt, we were friends for ten years. Why'd we just let it disappear?"

_That night at the hospital, about two years ago, when it was imminent my mother would leave me forever…_

Horrible, wretched, contemptible, miserable, vile, loathsome, stupid, revolting, repugnant world! It had betrayed me. The cat burglar known as reality stole my happy, innocent life. Moreover, it snatched my mother away from me. Or, at least, it would…soon. She had brain cancer, Incurable.

_My father recently sat me down. The look on his face told me everything that I'd been striving to deny, everything that I had known to be true for some time, yet my ignorance prevented me from physically breaking down._

_"Be strong," they said, when I received news of her condition._

_"Be strong," they said, when my mother vomited all day._

_"Be strong," they said, when she lost her sight._

_"Be strong," they said, when her days were numbered._

_And so I have been strong, for my mother. I am a rock, hard as stone. Impenetrable. Solid._

_Cold._

_My mother was the only one who really noticed the change within me. Even blind, she could see my absent nature. So I hid from her, though she was demising. I eluded her presence because I didn't like to be seen through._

_Stone is not transparent._

_If I ever confessed that to anyone, I'd probably be reprimanded for wasting the final days my mother had with me. But that withering woman was not my mother. My mother was elegant, and lovely, and kind. My mother had the same silky blonde hair as me, yet she found a way to tame it. People cherished her. Her kindergarteners were always teary on the final day of class. But even with all that childish affection, she still found time to ask about my day, to care for _me_._

_Amelia always hated me for that. Because aside from the fact that, to the bitter end, my mother would not admit that I was a favourite, anyone could see it was true. I resembled my mother the most, which my father adored. Two peas in a pod, he called us. And I wanted nothing more than to be like my mother, who seemingly had it all._

_What a shock it was to see my idol fall from that s pedestal I'd placed her upon._

_Since Mom's diagnosis, Santana and I had rarely talked. I was busy and removed and she was insecure about the whole situation. It is for these reasons that I believe my father called Santana to come talk to me on that particular day. The day when I was told officially, that my mother would die. I would have to live. We were no longer kindred spirits, life transected us. Yet, only I would have to grieve the wound of separation._

_When hesitant, squeaking sneakers sounded their way down the linoleum halls of the hospital, I turned my puffy, splotched face toward the intruder of my self-misery._

_It was Santana, looking more anxious than her groaning shoes had let on._

_"How are you doing Britt?" she gently whispered, unsure._

_"How do you think?" I spat. "I've just been told, legitimately, that my mom's going to die!."_

_She recoiled at my rude temperament. A look of disgust found its way upon her pretty face. In the past few years she had really matured. All right, I'll drop the etiquette. She was freaking hot. How ironic, that at a time when she was most desirable I should push her away with such force._

_"I just don't understand why such an awful thing has to happen to me! What'd I do? Why do I have to suffer so much?" I shouted. My words of frustration echoed down the sterile hallways._

_Santana stiffened beside me. That single action warned me that she would say something to my disliking. We were always very blunt with each other as kids. Age had done little to change that._

_"You know what Brittany; you're not the only one who's suffering. You're not the only one with problems. You have to learn to deal, just like everyone else." She said that calmly, though her voice hitched with heightened emotion. An undertone of bitterness did not fail to reach my ears._

_That was not a clear, thought out statement to say to me at that very moment, because I was already on edge. Logically, I snapped._

_"You're right. People in Africa have AIDS. Children in Asia are subjected to child labor. There's hunger on the streets, and murder down dark alleys. Why don't you go and fix those problems, huh? You're _not doing any_ good here!" A steely glare finalized my tirade._

_Santana understood. Without a word she collected herself and hastened down the hall._

_My stinging eyes trailed her retreating form. Only when she was out of view did I let out a moan so agonizing that my lungs ached and the tips of my fingers tingled. Tiny pinpricks, puncturing my heart, numbing my soul._

_I buried my face in my hands, trying to hide from this horrendous world._

_However, a warm pair of hands, with slender fingers, wrapped their way around wrists, pulling my own hands away._

_It was Santana again, back so soon._

_She handed me a Styrofoam cup, filled with delectable hot chocolate. She knew how to redeem herself without having to say the words, "I'm sorry." Words so jaded._

_"Look…" she began, before I rudely cut her off._

_"Don't. I'm the one who should be doing the explaining." However, with this allegation, I remained silent._

_Santana didn't press me though. She just sat there, like a faithful puppy. That only made what I was going to say harder._

_"You know what I was just thinking about, before you came back?" I asked, in a seemingly random nature._

_She just shook her head. She was squatted in front of me, her hands still holding on tightly to my own. I tried to ignore the way my skin tinged._

_Coughing in order to clear my mind, I began, "I was thinking back to when I was little, six or seven maybe. Do you remember how I was always afraid to go to sleep at night, because I believed that there was a monster under my bed? The bogeyman or something."_

_Santana gave me a quizzical look, and situated herself on the plastic chair beside me. She placed an extended arm around my shuddering shoulders. Apparently my trip down memory lane had done much to unsettle her._

_"I was just recollecting how my mother solved this situation. She gave me a pair of Dad's old socks. One had a hole on the heel. She said, 'Now B, these are magic socks that your father had been kind enough to let you borrow. If you wear them at night the bogeyman will leave you alone because he hates the way these socks smell. Of course I believed her. And there was never a problem after that, except for when I couldn't find my magical socks."_

_"I remember that," Santana breathed. Her comment was so soft, that I didn't know if I'd only envisioned it._

_"It's funny the things you reminisce, isn't it?" I looked at her inquiringly. "But I guess I'm facing more than a fantasized monster now."_

_It was with those words that a light in Santana's eyes shone brightly. She comprehended now, why I'd brought that memory up._

_"Do you still have those socks?" she asked, attempting to keep the mood light._

_I eyed the girl beside of me. "No. They became threadbare from constant use and I had to throw them away. It doesn't matter anyhow. They lost their magic the day the invincible became conquerable."_

_She looked at me helplessly, like she didn't know what she should do. It was essential that I her known that she couldn't help me. I had to say it now._

_"Santana. You told me that we all have to learn to cope with our problems."_

_She cringed._

_"No, it's good you said that to me. You're right. It's true. I need to overcome my mother's death. But I have to do it alone. I'm a solitary soldier."_

_She gave me an incredulous stare._

_I tried to explain better. "We're already drifting apart. You know it. I know it. We all know it. When I look at you, all I can think about is the wonderful times we had together. But that past involves my mother so much. And to get over her, that's how it needs to stay: as memories. Santana, you _have_ to be a memory!"_

_She sat there for a moment after my declaration, absorbing it all. Refraining from mumbling anything she bolted down the hall. I swore that not three seconds later a frustrated howl bounced down the corridors to pierce my cold flesh._

_Into the heart that cry settled, and that is where it remained._

It had been a lie that I told to Santana that day.

At first I sincerely believed it to be true, that I needed to fight my own battles. But when the day of the funeral came, bright and sun shining in memory of the glowing person passed, it was the young woman in the back row that I sponged my strength from. It was from her single shoulder squeeze where I took in hope. Hope that we could reunite our friendship. Faith in my belief that Santana didn't really find credibility in those harsh words I'd spoken at the hospital to her.

After nearly two years I began to lose hope and then Shay happened, dragging Santana along. So maybe now our companionship can be mended.

You asked me, Santana, just recently "Why did our friendship end?"

Because, mi amigo, I told you to leave me the hell alone.

How diligently you would follow that.

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**As always, read, review and enjoy!**


	6. Making amends

**New longer chapter! **

**As always thank you for the reviews and new follows and favourites. Sorry for any bad grammar/spelling be easy on me I live in London so we kinda spell differently lol.**

**kkkDy: I know, sad chapter :( but don't worry some happy times are ahead!  
**

**JJLives: I felt sorry for Santana when I was writing that chapter too, Britt was kinda mean to her. It was one of those moments when you realise after you've done it you shouldn't have and then you live to regret it. **

**jtour: Thank you! I'm glad you like it. Santana's feelings will be revealed in some upcoming chapters but because this fic is all from Brittany's POV it's mainly her feelings for the time being, until her and Santana get a little closer.**

**GabrielaSnixx: Thanks so much! New chapter up for ya, hope you like it. **

**Hott stuff: Thank you and thanks for the review! Enjoy this chapter. :)**

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It was with an added preciseness that I prepared myself for school that Monday morning. Normally, I could care less how others deemed my appearance. But today was different. Today, Santana and I were friends again, and I was on the road to rekindling our exhausted relationship. Once again, she had brought a monumental change to my outlook on life…and also to my image.

Staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I grimaced at the way the fluorescent lighting cast a pigment on my skin. Dad insisted upon using those energy saving lights to keep the bills down. At least, I assume that's why we use them. He never really told me anything.

After an hour, and about 3 near misses of burning myself with the curling iron, I decided to just straighten my hair back to normal, and leave it down. I attempted to apply that natural glow on my face, which was so obviously store bought, but when my formally untouched mascara stabbed me in the eye it was concluded that operation fashion modification should be aborted.

I didn't want to blend in with all those powdered, perked girls anyways.

With a final glance over in the mirror, I rolled my eyes at my ridiculous behavior. Santana and I were _just friends_, and nothing more. Friends don't bother with each other's appearances, because friends aren't attracted to one another. If they were attracted to one another then they'd be dating. Unless of course these friends were shy and didn't really want to share their feelings in fear of rejection, but…stop mind! Stop!

Clonking sounds from down the hall signalled that Beth was at the front door waiting to take me to school. A flurry of butterflies rampantly swooshed around my stomach, battling to see who could make me hurl first. A peek at Beth, standing on my porch, told me she was no better off.

"Nervous," I asked seriously.

She returned my question with a small smile and headed towards her car. I followed.

"So I called you a few times this weekend, but your mom kept saying you were busy or sleeping." I mentioned this casually, trying to hide the hurt in my voice. It was obvious that she'd been avoiding me.

"Yeah," she mumbled, turning up the radio. I immediately lowered the volume. "Why didn't you want to talk to me?" This time I interrogated her directly.

"It wasn't you. I just…needed time to think. A lot happened Friday."

I sat there hushed, anticipating her response.

"Shay kissed me," she blurted out.

I began to mouth 'I know,' but realized that in actuality, I shouldn't know.

"It was nice," she blushed. Her behavior was always so cute. No wonder Shay was hooked.

"That's good," was all I said in response.

We rode the rest of the way in silence, neither of us quite sure how to describe the paramount evening we'd had.

"Did he ask you out again?" I inquired when our school came into view.

"No," she replied simply, disappointedly.

"You think he will?" I asked.

"Who knows?" she sighed.

"Well I think he will. I've never seen him look so captivated with someone before." I told her trying to raise her spirits.

Beth gave me a pointed glance before clarifying, "Britt, you've never seen him outside of school_ before_."

"So!" I giggled. "I bet when we go walking through those doors, he'll come running up to you."

"We'll see…" she responded, unconvinced.

As we entered through the main doors to the school, Shay failed to present himself. Beth, however, pretended not to notice. Silently, we headed towards our side by side lockers.

After several tries, my locker insisted upon staying jammed.

"Beth," I whined, "I can't open it!"

She flared her nostrils at me, but dutifully unfastened the fickle lock.

"You're a life-saver," I grinned. An approaching figure caught my attention and wiped all emotion from my face.

Confused, my friend turned around to take a look at what caught my attention. I averted my eyes towards her, while simultaneously taking a step back. I didn't want to be an intrusion on this spectacle.

"Beth," Shay murmured, running a strong hand down her jaw line and through her hair. He appeared breathless, just to see her.

"Good morning," Beth smiled, a crimson radiance crossing her cheeks.

Tenseness ran along the flexed muscle of Shay's neck, as if he were restraining himself. I felt an urgency grow within me because I knew what he was debating inside. When he could remain controlled no longer, he promptly placed an eager kiss upon Beth's unsuspecting mouth.

Just as quickly, he stepped back, turning his head slightly with boyish shame.

Beth's ringing laughter filled the clamorous hallways and Shay curiously peered towards her.

Once again overtaking the space between them, Beth gracefully leaned up to him and whispered some intangible secret in his ear. I was pleased to see her do that. Their shy, maybe exclusive relationship added an air of intimacy you rarely see in high school couples.

A group of gibbering sophomores watching this take place began bubbling excitedly, "Who's that girl?" "Is she new?" "Does that mean Shay's taken?" A collective, "_NO!_" ensued.

One daring girl sniffed audaciously, "She's a nobody! Shay's way too good for her."

I stormed towards that little brat, ready to force-feed her a piece of my mind, when Beth's gentle voice halted me. "It's alright Brittany."

"No it's not!" I griped, with a childish stomp of my foot.

"I don't think you need to go looking for fights," Shay laughed. "You'll have plenty coming to you if my predictions are correct."

I scrutinized Shay's comment with a bemused demeanor.

"What?" I inquired.

Beth and Shay gleamed at me, and then began walking towards her first period class.

"Hey, wait! I asked you a question…punk!"

My only response was an echoing chuckle.

"What are they doing, going to class anyways? We have _fifteen_ minutes before the first bell rings," I grumbled, feeling let down by their desertion.

"Brittany," came the chipper voice I recognized as Quinn's.

Smiling back, I said, "Oh hi."

"So…" she began, while pulling me into a secluded section of the hallway. "How did the 'date' go?"

Having only spent four hours with her, I still was wary of providing personal details of my life. "It was good—I mean it went alright."

"Good? All right? Come on! More than that happened."

"Well, Shay and Santana took us to some lakefront restaurant about an hour away. We sat outside under stars, walked the shoreline, and went home," I offered in one giant breath.

"Maybe I'm not asking this clearly," explained Quinn. "I want to know how you felt. The _emotions_, not the synopsis."

I gazed at her blankly.

"Well…" she asked impatiently.

"You're not going to gossip this around the school are you?" I queried with a skeptical tone.

"No, duh!" Quinn huffed. "Santana is my _friend_. I would never try to hurt her."

"What about Shay? Are you _his_ friend?"

"Yeah," she replied, clearly irked.

"Okay. This is all under the table, but I think Shay's gonna ask Beth to be his girlfriend."

Quinn squealed with delight.

"You know, it surprises me that you're this excited. Aren't there like, a ton of your friends who want to date him? Why don't you want him to ask one of them out?"

Her tapping, brand named foot and failing hands warned me that she was near her limitation with me.

"Because, they have like, no substance. Seriously, all they care about is having a hot boyfriend. It could matter less who he actually was. He really likes Beth, and I think she likes him too. They'd make a great couple," she enthused.

"I agree."

"Okay, now what about you and my girl Santana?" she directed.

I couldn't tell if she placed the "my girl" as a friendly gesture or a predatory one.

"We're friends again," I meekly answered.

She grabbed my wrists animatedly. "That's so wonderful! You guys haven't talked in two years, you said? So is that all?"

"Yeah," I concluded. But I wished with my entire existence that we could be more.

"You don't have feelings for her do you?" she asked, the tiniest bit tentative.

"No," I lied.

She breathed an enormous sigh. "_Good_. I mean, not that it would be bad if you did like her in that way. Well, yes bad. But no, not bad."

I couldn't help but chuckle. "Quinn, do you realize that you're making no sense whatsoever right now?"

She joined in on my laughter before trying to explain again. "I guess the only way for me to clarify is to tell you the truth."

"The truth is always good," I added, before realizing the hypocrisy of my statement.

"I like Santana... A lot," she confided.

_Shit._

"That's good. You guys would…look really good together," I declared. That statement _was _accurate. They would, in fact, be a cute couple. However, every single cell of my body screamed at me for being a coward and scolding me for lying to her.

Way to screw up your chances with her, Brittany.

How could I ever compare to a gorgeous, popular, and recently nominated captain of the cheerios, Quinn?

You're right, I can't.

"So did she mention me," she probed eagerly.

I bit my lip. "No, not that I can recall; we didn't actually talk much, with the whole awkward situation and all."

"Okay," she sorrowfully accepted.

I patted her upper arm. "I'm sure she'll come around. Santana has a hard time warming up to people. Heaven knows it took her forever to even talk to me when we were kids. Would you believe that she was a bashful little girl?" I giggled at the memory. "But with her mother and all, it's just real hard for her. So don't lose hope when it takes forever to accustom to you."

Yeah Britt, don't lose hope.

Quinn cocked her head to one side. "Her mother?"

Oops.

"Sorry. If you don't understand, you'll have to wait for her to tell you. It really isn't my place."

She nodded a second and then brightened. "So I'm having a party in a few weeks. I haven't set an official date yet, but you should come. It'll be _so awesome_."

"That's not my social scene," I replied dubiously.

"Then make it!" she laughed, hitting me playfully. "Santana and Shay will be there. Make sure to invite Beth too. You know, I'm surprised I haven't befriended you sooner, Britt. You're so funny, and I think with a little bit of my help we can get you a boyfriend too or a girlfriend, whichever you prefer." She slightly chuckled.

"I don't want a boyfriend or a girlfriend," I defied. I want Santana, your probably, soon to be girlfriend.

Quinn snickered. "Every girl wants somebody. You haven't realized it yet, that's all!"

What? Someone please tell me where she gets her facts.

"I don't think so…"

"Anyways!" she interrupted. "You should still come. I can't get to know you in fifteen minute periods." She said those words as if summoning the bell; its shrill sound scratched within my ears.

"Fine. I'll go. Bye now," I said.

"Chao," she reciprocated, giving me a tiny wave.

As I headed down the hallway I passed Santana, but she didn't notice me. At least, I hope that's the reason for her lack of acknowledgement.

I would reflect on that miniscule encounter until lunch, when, to my surprise, Shay joined Beth and me outside. We sat at a picnic bench underneath a tree.

"So Beth," I started, taking her attention away from Shay. "Quinn talked to me today, and we're both invited to her next party. She said it'd be in a few weeks. Want to go?"

"I'm going," Shay declared almost proudly.

"Well good for you," I laughed.

Without a moments thought Beth interjected, "I'm going too then!"

I bit my tongue from saying anything. It would be unfortunate if Beth became Shay's adoring shadow. Granted, she'd never been as blissful as she was with Shay. I was grateful to him for that, and Shay seemed to return her affections wholeheartedly. However, it would be easy for Beth to become the complaisant girlfriend while he shined. Shay was use to glorification and she was accustomed to disregard.

"You'll be there, right Britt?" came Beth's curious inquiry.

"Of course," I replied after a minute.

"Great!" Shay gathered. "Now all we need is for Santana to come as well."

"I always do," came an added raspy voice. One that sent terribly marvellous shivers through my body, causing the hairs on my arms to rise.

"That's right. Santana here is a true party girl'!"

That comment made me flinch. I'd heard rumors of Santana's wild nature, but always affixed them to be high school gossip.

"We'll show you guys really how to live," Santana joked.

"Live?" I spouted. "You mean we need to get new lives? Lives so empty we fill them with meaningless alcohol, raving, and girls or guys depending on who wants to give it up that night?"

Santana laughed in response. It was frosty and barren, and chilled me to the bone. "You mean parties? Those are just for fun. You wouldn't understand though; you're too uptight."

Her remark pained me, but I pretended not to ache. "Well someone's got to keep a chaste eye out," I offered lightly.

"That's right Brittany. You did watch me dig myself into a hole, didn't you? Heck, I think you even helped me deepen it," she sneered with exceeding bitterness.

Shay and Beth watched with gaping mouths, utterly shocked by her comment, they didn't understand.

But I did. I comprehended everything now. How well Santana remembered that night at the hospital…

And how much of a _traitor_ she really thought I was.

I wasn't quite sure where to go from that comment. Should I apologize? Get angry? Stalk off? Cower and hide? Or remain mute? I chose the latter, not because it was the best option, but simply because debating the other choices left me in a state of shocked quietude.

Before I could react in any other manner, Santana stomped away fiercely. I watched her high pony amidst the crowded lunchroom, until she was no longer visible.

"What the…" Shay mumbled, daring to be the first one to talk.

Beth reached my side and rubbed my arm comfortingly. "You alright Britt? What was that all about?" Her warm chocolate eyes searched my face for some sort of clarification.

"My mom…her mom…us…" I tittered anxiously.

I was still confused about her sudden hostility. On the date she'd seemed so nonchalant about how I'd treated her a couple years ago. She acted like she truly believed us both to be at fault for our obsolete friendship. But now she was pointing an accusing finger towards me; I solely held the blame.

Was her abrupt mood swing a reaction to my disapproval of her lifestyle? As a child she constantly tried to earn my consent, as if, somehow I was the authority over good and bad. When I was little, I'd always accounted that to her shyness. As a kindergartener, she'd timidly befriended the teacher's daughter, me, but I was a preschooler. I was one of the first to earn her trust. Could it be, that a decade later, she still cared about what I thought of her?

_It wasn't possible!_

It was more likely that Santana was so elated to spend time with me again, she'd carelessly forgotten about the horrendous way in which I'd treated her. But the buzz was gone, and she now remembered how much I really pissed her off.

Either way, it meant Santana felt something about me…something significant.

And that deduction provoked every muscle in my body to tense.

There _had_ to be another explanation. Because how could she ever, in a million years, hold me dear?

Beth offered me a ride home that day, but I insisted upon walking the three miles. She would've forced me into her car if Shay had not distracted her from across the parking lot. A pang of jealously coursed through me as I watched her apologetically smile and prance away.

That's all people ever did in my life, distance themselves.

I suppose I really shouldn't complain. After all, I'd advised Santana just recently that you have to fight to keep the person who turns their back on you…

Suddenly I was stunned, a wave of ice flooding my veins.

Crap!

A mass of expletives swarmed my thoughts.

If she had reflected on our date in any way like I did (probably not as thoroughly) then she must have realized what I said to her.

I told her that the reason our friendship had ended was because I didn't care enough to try and keep her. I pushed her away, and when she, in turn, detached herself from me, I blamed her for not reconciling things. No wonder she was so antagonistic.

Her words to me the other night were, "Maybe that's how you felt, but not me." Then the pause that filled my senses. "I was just afraid."

Why hadn't I taken more heed of that comment? Why didn't I notice she was laying her _soul_ out to me?

She had been scared to fix things between us. Because for once, when she sought my acceptance, I had thrust her aside. Because I had taken her feeble trust, and trampled it! Because her mother, her _mother_, had already left her. Because the woman who was so nurturing to her, my mom, had died. Because I was all that was left, and I slammed the door in her face. Because after all of the anguish, she couldn't take my rejection one more time.

As these troubling thoughts barraged my head, I could no longer see straight. Exhaustedly I leaned against a sturdy light pole. Its cool touch soothed my burning skin. When shapes had once again taken their proper form I realized I was nowhere near my house, though I'd been walking for over an hour. In fact, I was ten blocks from home. The exact ten blocks that took me to the location of Santana's residence.

How long it'd been since I took in the sight of her suburban house. An old, slightly battered black truck was parked in the driveway. It was Santana's.

The intrusive squeal of school bus breaks interrupted my thoughts. I watched as the kids cheerfully bounced off and headed in multiple directions towards warm cookies and milk…towards their mothers.

One gabbling girl, with a high ponytail of long bark colored hair, framed by bothersome strands that must have tickled her face, caught my attention. I watched her with a hawk eye as she treaded up the concrete path and entered the front door to Santana's house. Once inside I saw her give me a secretive glance from behind a slightly pulled back curtain.

Did she babysit her? She didn't have any siblings, and the girl looked to be about nine.

Soon the curtain was pulled back again to reveal the annoyed face of Santana. When she caught sight of me her eyebrows shot up, and her mouth set itself in a grim line. I waved hesitantly, figuring it would be stupid to just stand there and pretend to not notice her. She let the curtain loose and walked away. Taking that as a sign that she wanted nothing to do with me, I achingly began to head back home, for real this time.

The gasp of an opening door, coupled with the shout of "Brittany?" halted me in my tracks. I whipped around to stare at a confused Santana, jogging her way towards me.

"What are you doing here?"

It would have been far too embarrassing to tell her that I'd accidentally come to her house, so instead I said, "I was planning on talking to you."

She jerked her head sideways. "Telepathically?"

"What? No," I responded.

Santana began to smile, but prevented herself from carrying it out. My heart plummeted.

"Well I was wondering how you planned on discussing anything with me inside and you outside, since it appeared that you didn't intend to knock on the door or phone me like a normal person." She spoke out to me.

I blushed and ducked my head, flustered. "Oh yeah. That…" I gritted my teeth.

"But you did accomplish scaring the living daylights out of my sister," she laughed sincerely.

"You sister?" I questioned, taking the opportunity to learn of this mysterious girl.

"Step sister," she corrected with a shrug.

"Your dad's remarried? Wha-When?" I said in shock.

"About a year ago," she estimated. "Anyways, that doesn't matter." She opened her mouth to say something else, but stopped when she began to look at her surroundings with squinting eyes. "Did you _drive_ here?" she asked.

"Walked," I clarified.

"From your house," she concluded.

"No. School."

Santana peered at me discerningly, like I was crazy. "Why?"

"Because, I _wanted to talk_ to you." I said looking at the floor

"So talk," she replied.

I rolled my eyes and began stalking away. After a moment's pause, Santana caught up, matching me stride for stride.

"Is this how you talk?" she questioned, teasingly.

"I'm going to the park," I explained, exasperated.

Santana froze in her place. "Th-the park?" she stuttered, as if I'd just suggested taking a stroll through the pet cemetery.

"Yes," I said slowly. "I go there all the time. You used to too. Remember?"

She nodded, her eyes as unreadable as a closed book. If only I could open them up and see what was really inside. As she got older, that is how she became, more and more indecipherable. Or maybe I just got worse at grasping what was right in front of my eyes. I needed to take a step back, let things focus, but instead I opted to give up on anything markedly difficult.

"So are we going or not?" Santana called back to me, now several steps ahead.

I responded by racing past her, tapping her head as I went by. We were always competitive with each other. It was second nature. Santana quickly zoomed by me, leaving me to trail behind with aching sides and a pounding heart.

When we'd reached the chain-linked fence and stepped upon the sodden grass, I accused Santana of cheating. She smirked in return, and told me I was just a sore loser. Specifically an "out of shape sore loser."

"You sure know the way to a girl's heart San," I remarked dryly.

She turned around with the speed of a rocket and began walking backwards so she could stare at me. I found it all disconcerting. "Am I trying to get to your heart, Britt?" she countered.

"Trying…" I began, before coming to a curt stop. I'd almost said the unspeakable, that she needn't try to get to my heart. She was already there.

She must have realized I wasn't planning on finished that comment, as she began galloping towards the swings. Several parents looked on disapprovingly as she dropped onto one, eliciting a heavy groan from the aging wooden frame.

"I think you're far too big for that," reprimanded an elderly woman.

Santana grinned cheekily at her, showing no sign of moving. She gasped and panted indignantly away.

"So I'm really not the fat one," I provoked her.

"Who said you were fat?" Santana replied bewildered.

I let out a gentle sigh, intermingled with laughter and sat on the vacant swing beside her.

"Push me?" I pleaded. "I know you want to," I added, though I was no longer referring to the swings.

She pretended not to catch on. "Whatever," was her mumble as she stood up, stretching.

When warm hands touched my back, I gulped deeply. Only when I began swinging forward and back, hair mimicking my movements, did I divulge on my inner thoughts.

"Are you mad at me?" I questioned hesitantly.

"No," came a one word response.

"Not for today…" I explained. "For that night, at the hospital."

She missed a push, and a part of my momentum was thrown off. I felt, somehow, that it'd affected my nerve to question Santana.

But the next time I came back, she was there to shove me forward, sending me higher and higher and higher. I laughed giddily.

"I _was_ mad at you. And sometimes I still am…" she trailed off.

"With right," I added, to show that I wasn't surprised or hurt by her admission.

"I just didn't understand why you couldn't see that I was losing someone I loved too. Geez. She was like a second mother to me!"

"I know…" was all I mustered. I couldn't see because I was wallowing in my own pain. Because all that mattered was moving on, not the people I hurt along the way.

"You're the only girl that ever made me cry, you know that?" she almost whispered.

Her comment panged me. "I assume you're not talking about the time I accidentally tipped you over in my red wagon?" I responded lightly.

She gave out a short spurt of laughter. "I think those tears were more in response to the concrete chafing my skin. So no, I wasn't referring to that. I meant the night at the hospital. The one you wanted to know if I was mad at you for. Afterwards I sobbed, for everything lost. I mean, I knew we weren't that good of friends anymore. We rarely talked. But when your dad called me, I was _so hopeful_ that it was you who had asked for me. With your mom dying, and my mom already gone, I felt so…helpless. And that's not something I would usually admit to. I guess I'm just always open with you. That's why it hurt so much when you turned me away. You were always a bit of a mother to me, telling me what to do," she teased me gently. "I didn't even make it out of the hospital before the sobs hit me, rather unexpectedly."

I was afraid to tell her that I'd heard those cries.

"I hate crying," she muttered somewhat angrily.

"I'm sorry," I offered, as if it were any consolation now.

She shrugged indifferently.

"I'm sorry for a lot of things. Especially for lying to you." I said.

She raised her head in questioning.

"When I told you to leave, I was lying. At first I thought I really did need to move on alone. But I became so weak, moping around not knowing what day it was. I lied to you, and I lied to myself."

Santana pondered a moment, before saying, "We all make mistakes. Isn't that what they teach us in school? To try again when we fail?"

My swinging had become slower and now my hair only breezed slightly as I swayed to and fro.

The sun had begun its descent, casting shadows that skittered away from the awakening streetlights. However, the park remained dusky, set apart from the guiding illumination. Santana's features were no longer observable.

"Do you hate me for it?" I meekly inquired.

She hastily grabbed the chains to my swing, ceasing my movement. A strong forearm buckled me from flying forward. Santana shoved her face mere inches from mine. All I could absorb was the sheer brilliance of her eyes, and the fever of her arm pressing protectively against my stomach.

She spoke but one word, which breezily waltzed across my mouth.

"Never," She whispered insistently.

My eyes frowned and my lips grimaced as I scooted onto my knees in the worn out bark dust. Santana followed suit, confused by my behavior. We were close enough to breathe each other in. I inhaled severely.

When I couldn't stand this untouched nearness no longer, I impulsively pulled her into a clenching hug. She returned it full force, stealing the air in my lungs. It didn't matter if I ever breathed again, though.

I would die contented.

How long we sat there, grasping for something of old, I cannot tell you. Time was of no importance.

When we separated, Santana offered me a ride home, which I graciously accepted. Darkened streets were not of my pleasure. We arrived at my one story house, and Santana kindly walked me to the front door. She claimed it was because she wanted to say hi to my father.

I hadn't seen so much life in the man since my mother died, as was present when Santana respectfully shook his hand. He grinned, and asked about her hobbies. They chatted for several minutes as I watched with a green eye. Why was it that my father could open to Santana but not to his own flesh and blood?

Santana mentioned having to return home and begin her schoolwork, as it was already late.

"All right, San. Just don't become a stranger around here" my father laughed.

She nodded back in agreement, and then turned to bid me farewell. Silently Dad retreated into the house.

I smiled slightly; still resentful of the way my father had bloomed in her presence. Whether the embrace that followed was Santana's apology for this, or simply an intimate farewell between friends, I was unable to tell. Though her arms wrapped tightly around my shoulders, I could not muster the strength to return the gesture. Her lips grazed the part in my hair, and my senses were incited. Yet I remained rigid in my position.

"Good night Britt Britt," she cooed gently. Releasing me, she turned and walked away. It was then that I noticed her signature walk that had not changed over her maturing years. Her hands wringing at her sides nervously.

Wait, was she nervous?

What was she nervous about?

As she drove away, I reflected upon how seemingly perfect she was for me. She was everything I wanted. I couldn't help but mock how imperfect _I _was for _her_. Look at all the pain I'd caused.

Swallowing the acid taste now filling my mouth, I headed inside.

Homework beckoned. And love…did not.

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	7. Babysitting

**Update Y'all! Sorry it's kinda a filler chapter but I've been super busy! Almost forgot to post but better late than never right?**

**Hope you like it :)**

**JJLives: Thanks! I'm glad you liked the update. Slow and steady does it lol. **

**jtour: Ahaa, I can promise you Quinn isn't going to be a bad guy cuz I don't like when she's made out to be bad either. She's doesn't know any better about Brittany liking Santana so she's just being honest with her. You'll see where I'm coming from in later chapters but yh I promise she's not a villain. Britt's sister and niece are in this chapter for ya and are also gonna be in some future chapters.**

**kkkkDy: I honestly was thinking about going with the jealous Santana route but I figured this way I could play around with the story a bit more and see where I can take it. :)**

**Guest: Thank you so much! Don't worry, there will be no Quinntana in this fic, maybe a little interaction, I haven't quite figured it out yet, but deffo no relationship there. I'm strictly Brittana all the way lol.**

**Guest: I'm so glad you like it :) Here's the next chapter. Enjoy! **

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I received an "urgent" call from my sister late on Friday night, demanding I babysit my niece for the duration of Saturday.

"You have to Brit. My birthday was on Wednesday, but Mitch couldn't get a day off from the dealership to take me out," Amelia mentioned with dripping bitterness.

"Yes, yes, we know the world revolves around you already, dear sister. With that said, of course I'll watch the little angel. She deserves a break from you," I replied casually, as if our conversation were over a cup of tea.

The sound of snapping teeth rang through the phone painfully. Doubtless, Amelia was forming some kind of snarky remark to put me in my rightful place as the second daughter, second best, second priority.

"I'm just asking for a simple favour. Why do you always have to be such a brat? Geez!" Amelia shouted angrily. I noticed a faint buzzing sound lingering in my ears.

"Don't worry. Despite my _loveableness_, you're still Daddy's favorite," I cooed with such sarcasm, the remark burned even my own tongue.

"…But not Mom's," she muttered.

I snorted in response, outraged at her immature, jealous attitude. A long time ago these characteristics of Amelia's would always stir fearful emotions in my gut. I'd braid her hair, clean her room, and practically beg on hands and knees for her to leave me alone. For the most part it worked well. But whenever Mom arrived home with a special gift for me, the fire under Amelia's feet would spring to life, and I'd once again begin the slave.

Santana was always my haven during these sibling troubles. She'd sneak me out my house and race me to the park, our park, and she would always let me win. With a pat, I'd be congratulated on my victory, a signal that she had slacked in order to give me the advantage. If it were a serious race, Santana would tighten the laces on her dirtied converses and make sure to give my t-shirt a good pull backwards to set off my centre of balance, before racing off. Usually I ended up in tears, playing the wounded child. When she noted I was sobbing, a look of concern would overwhelm her face. It was at that moment when I'd jump to life and sprint ahead, all the time laughing at her gullibility. Despite this, she would catch me up to steal the win. I used to call her Roadrunner, because when she zoomed past me, I swear a trail of blurry lines followed behind her.

An inpatient huff pulled me out of my daydreaming. At present I was, in fact, not talking to the bestest of all best friends, Santana.

"Like it even matters Amelia," I spat, now resuming my attention towards my spiteful sister. "She'd _dead._"

Amelia stayed silent.

Opening my mouth to apologize, something that was customary for me whenever we fought, I quickly snapped it back shut at the sound of a masculine voice.

"Brittany? It's Mitch."—Amelia's husband. "Can you watch Emily on Saturday? I'm going to take Amelia out since we missed her birthday…"

The harsh voice of Amelia shouted, "_I _didn't miss my birthday, _you_ did!"

"Tell her she only turned twenty-two. It's not like that age is anything special," I commanded Mitch.

"Um…no I don't think I will," he replied honestly.

"Whatever," I grumbled back at him.

"So?"

"I already told Amelia I would. But I'm not getting her a present. There's no need to when you spoil her so much," I lied through my teeth.

It was apparent by how quiet it went on the other end of the phone that Mitch was uncomfortable with my snapping turtle comments. He never really comprehended the bitter feelings between Amelia and me. And for some reason, I couldn't explain it to him. Mitch had probably heard Amelia's side of the story a thousand times over, but passion always clouded the truth in her words.

So, what was I supposed to do? Call him up for a discussion of my past? And maybe afterwards we could go shopping together! Even trying would be futile. Mitch would just tell me I lived in the past too much. He was logical like that. Life existed in an A, B, C sequence for him.

"Bring Emily over when you want. Believe me, I'll be here." With that I hung up, not bothering to wait for a reply.

That was precisely what my sister and her husband did the following day. Bright and early, meaning before eleven o'clock, an impatient knock pounded ungodly upon the front door. And it didn't stop. Bam, bam, bam…as I walked down the hall.

"I'm coming already. Hold your horses," I cried out tiredly.

My father reached it first, pulling his robe tightly around him, before opening the front door.

"Amelia, Mitch. What are you two doing here at 9:30 in the morning? Shouldn't you love birds still be asleep," he joked good-naturedly. Dad always held a fondness for Mitch, even when Amelia first began dating him in high school. He was, quote "A fine young man" unquote. Plus, Amelia was always Dad's shining star, just as I was Mom's. Little good it did me now, with her gone. So logically, my father was always cordial and pleasant to be around when the duo decided to show their faces.

"Oh Dad," Amelia began with a laugh, one she saved especially for him. "Brit is going to watch Emily for us, since Mitch is finally taking me out for my birthday. We're spending the day together." Her words were vibrant and…happy. They lacked any of the previous night's harshness, of course, with Daddy nearby.

"Yep, I am," I piped up, running a hopeless hand through my silky hair. Amelia's hair was the same color as mine, only slightly wavy and incredibly shiny. It reached just below her shoulder blades, as she sashayed about. No wonder Mitch had fallen undeniably in love with her, she was gorgeous. Amelia did, however, take extremes to stay that way, whereas I did not. She neared my height at 5'5", probably only an inch shorter, and inherited my father's pale gray eyes that would chill you to the bone with one stony glare. I'd had my share of those.

My brother-in-law had no reason to feel self-conscience with my sister in public, as he was equally attractive. I'd guess he was just shy of six foot, and had a surfer build. Long, lean, broad shouldered, with those uber-sexy narrow hips. His hair held a raven color he accounted to the one-fourth Native American in him. His eyes were an intense blue, similar to my own. I'd perpetually found the mix of his hair and eyes to give him an alluring, exotic look.

Amelia started dating Mitch when she was sixteen, so I was only eleven. But believe me, even as a lowly sixth grader I could tell what a hunk for a boyfriend my sister had. If, for some reason, I had been completely blind to this fact, the friendly chatter from upper classmen I received in order to get the dish on my sister's relationship would've been enough to open my naïve eyes.

But my feelings towards Mitch were only lustful, never substantial enough to act upon. One, because he was my brother-in-law for goodness' sakes. And two, someone else tendered my heart. Instead I simply admired his pretty face whenever it was around.

"So what do you have planned?" inquired my father.

Not the least bit interested in what they had to say, I gingerly slipped back with baby Emily in my arms, napping. I thought I'd gotten away, when a warm palm settled upon my shoulder.

"Eek!" I yelped, before whipping my head around to face Mitch.

"Are you sure you're all right with watching Em today? I don't want to intrude upon your plans."

I rolled my eyes, grinning. "It's never concerned you before. But don't worry; I love watching my niece. She rarely cries when I'm with her."

Mitch smiled softly; he looked so beautiful. And despite the exhausted crease knitted in his brow, I knew him to be innately content with his life.

He gave his daughter a soft stroke on the head before heading back towards Amelia. I smiled dearly at his retreating form. As my brother-in-law, I loved him. We'd never had much of a friendship, yet our few and short meetings held so much honesty. With Mitch and me, it was just the bare truth; we were straight to the point with each other. I found it all to be very refreshing, like sunshine after the dreary months of winter.

After the two left, I settled Emily on the twisted sheets of my bed, before preparing for the day. When twelve o'clock rolled around and the curious baby now vivaciously awake, I decided the dull home setting was not suitable for such life.

I called up Beth to see if she would accompany us to the duck pond, which was settled amidst the city park, a child's wonderland. Bordering the park was a collection of small shops and restaurants that teens found themselves repetitively visiting during those languid summer days.

Beth's mother answered after three rings. "Hello Brittany! How are you dear?"

Smiling, I responded, "Oh fine. Just bored, as Saturdays can so often be. Is Beth around?"

"I'm sorry Honey," apologized Beth's mom, Ruth, profusely. "But you just missed her. She's out with Shay for the day. Did you know my darling daughter has a boyfriend now? Oh, how fast you all grow up. One moment I'm putting pigtails in her hair, and the next she's going out on dates!"

I giggled slightly by her melodrama, before putting on a disappointed façade. "So she'll be gone all day? Man, I was hoping she'd provide me with a bit of entertainment. I guess I'll just have to think of someone else to call up," I explained, though Ruth knew I had no other friends.

"I'm sure you'll find somebody else, who'd be delighted to spend time with a pretty girl like you," she hinted with a hopeful air.

Santana popped into my mind. Normally I would squelch the absurd thought, but now things were different. We _were_ friends again, so why shouldn't we do activities together? Ahem, activities that _friends_ do.

Urgently bidding Ruth a farewell, I dialed Santana up, memorising her number.

The youthful voice of a girl answered. "Hello?"

"Hi, can I speak to Santana please?"

With a moment's hesitation, the response came, "She's not up yet. Can I take a message?"

Discouragement coursed through me, until mumbled, raspy words sounded into my ear. "Who's on the phone?"

The girl set the phone down with a loud clunk, before replying, "I don't know. It's for you anyways. Here…"

Anxiety overtook my brain, as I contemplated hanging the phone up.

"Good morning?" came the uncertain greeting of Santana. I nearly snorted with laughter at her etiquette.

"Yes, this is Brittany." I stopped there, awaiting his approval.

"Uh…hey…Britt?" she finished, her voice clouded with even more confusion.

"Yep, it's me," I confirmed, and then all composure broke loose. My words began to ramble, "See, today I'm baby-sitting my niece, Emily. Have you met her yet? She's around a year and three-quarters old now and still wobbly on her feet, and is absolutely adorable. But I can't remember whether or not you like kids. And um…right now I'm really bored. So I thought, why not go to the park? Not the one between our houses, as there really isn't anything for Emily to do. I mean the one in the city, with the duck pond. I think she might like feeding the ducks, or at least looking at them. They say young minds learn so fast, so maybe I can teach her about animals or something while we're there."

I laughed uncomfortably, "Heh…and I'm just really, really bored, and it'd be fun for me at least. Emily is a really composed little baby; she doesn't cry much, unless she hurts herself or something like that. Or if she needs her sippy-cup. But that's not the point. I was wondering if you wanted to come down with me, seeing as we're friends and all. We could just hang out. If you get totally bored by being there, you can always go home. It's just that, Emily may be cute, but she doesn't talk much. I suppose you could call baby sounds talking, but we can't carry on an intellectual conversation. Not that I'm really looking for an intellectual conversation on Saturday. Hello! It's my day off. I just want to be a vegetable. Unfortunately, vegetables cannot take care of babies, so I'm stuck being the grown up today. However, it has left me feeling incredibly bored, which is why I'm wondering if you want to come down to the park with me. You could bring your sister, or stepsister. I don't know how you prefer to call her. So what do you think? You want to?"

A silence ensued. My rapid pulse counted the time elapsed, three beats per second.

"So what exactly is it you wanted?" questioned a baffled Santana.

"I'm going to the park that has the duck pond with my niece, Emily. Do you want to come with me?" I explained simply.

"Sure." Such a simple answer, it drove me wild.

"Seriously?" I couldn't help from sputtering out.

She laughed lightly. "We are friends, as you said. Or-er-I think you mentioned that. But yeah, I'd like to. I haven't gotten out in a long time."

Somehow I highly doubted that, but made no move to counter her comment.

"Okay. I'm ready to go now, so whenever you feel like going…" I trailed off so that she might finish my sentence.

"I have to get dressed. How 'bout I pick you up when I'm done. The bright-eyed stare I'm getting from Mia tells me she wants to go too, so I'm going to bring her, m'kay?"

"Sounds great," I answered softly, the moment all too surreal.

"I'll see you then," Santana finished the conversation.

After we'd hung up, I leaned my back against the nearest wall.

Oh my dear Lord.

Dreams do come true.

I waited on the porch steps for Santana to come, and sure enough she did in her old, rumbling black truck. Sucking in a longing breath, I watched intently as her perfect, slim frame ambled towards me.

"Ready?" she rhetorically asked.

I nodded, and then pointed to the baby seat. "Will this fit?"

She pondered a moment before stating; "We can stuff it in the back. Mia may be a bit squished though." It was then that I noticed the girl from Monday sitting in the side-facing seat behind shotgun.

"How old is she?" I asked.

"Ten."

"Good age," I smiled coyly, thinking of all the trouble she and I got into when we were that age.

"Sure is," Santana matched my grin.

"Hey there," I greeted Mia.

She looked a bit startled to see me, apparently remembering the way I seemingly stalked her a few days earlier.

"Hi," she peeped back.

Once we'd settled in, the drive to the duck pond went by rather awkwardly. Santana and I attempted at small talk, but for some reason Mia's presence filtered my words.

"So did you guys bring any bread?" I asked generally.

"Crap," Santana muttered.

Laughing gently, I said, "It's okay. I put some stale dinner roles and a loaf of bread in Emily's diaper bag. I think that's enough for everyone, don't you?"

The quick glance she sent me made my heart aflutter. It held relief, admiration, and was that affection I betook? Oh man alive!

We found a parking spot not too far from the duck pond, and I attempted to unbuckle Emily. However, the fickle belt would not come undone.

"Here, let me help," Santana offered as she fitted herself against me in the small space that provided access to the back seat. Seeing as there wasn't sufficient room for both of us, I began to slide away. The task however was halted when I found that I was stuck, my front pressed tightly against her side. She gave me a strange look for a moment.

"I was going to give you more room to get to Em out, but I can't move," I rationalized breathless, hoping that my explanation might salvage my pride.

Santana blushed, actually blushed, before mumbling, "Oh sorry." She pulled herself out, so that I could leave, before returning to the release of my niece.

Having freed her, I pulled the baby out of her arms and trudged towards the pond, which was intermingled with tiny children and brown-feathered ducks. Conversing parents stood back, with a watchful eye narrowed on their individual offspring.

Spreading out a blanket for us to sit on, I handed several dinner rolls to Mia and broke pieces for Emily, who immediately shoved the old bread into her mouth.

"No, no, no. We throw it, see?" I cooed, while demonstrating what was to be done with the grained food.

Emily watched intently, still munching on the hardened bread. After several attempts, she got the general process and tossed about half her stock at the birds. Pieces landed near a foot from her weak throw. A few brave ducks waddled their way towards the food, obviously seeing someone as bitty as Emily as no threat at all.

"Brittany, come here!" squealed Mia excitedly.

"What is it?" I said, making my way towards her. She stood over a grassy patch along the manmade pond, pointing at something hidden by the greenery, her wispy hair dangling in her eyes.

"There are some babies here. They're so cute," she laughed.

Emily twisted in my arms, sensing the heightened emotion now dancing in the fresh, March air.

Santana had joined us, as we watched the still downy soft ducklings cuddle against one another.

"Isn't it a bit early for them to be born?" I questioned Santana, as she was probably the only one near with an educated response.

"Maybe their parents just couldn't wait," she replied nonchalantly, with a shrug of her shoulders. However, her eyes sparkled, betraying her casualness.

"Wanky," I hissed playfully, shoving her shoulder lightly.

"Hey, hey, hey," she responded, with surrendering hands raised, "That's my word" she laughed out.

Mia tried feeding the ducklings, when an insistent honk directed our attention towards an approaching goose.

"Uh…Santana?" I mentioned nervously.

She peered at me for a moment.

"I don't think those were baby ducklings."

She grinned in agreement before shouting, "Run!"

We all skittered in various directions, Mia towards the blanket, Emily and me into the masses and Santana in the opposite direction. The angry mother goose chose Santana as her target.

Seeing as I was no longer in danger, I watched as Santana darted crazily around, in order to doge the goose's advancements. She was no match to out-run the enraged bird. It snapped at her, grazing her skin and leaving an angered mark on her upper arm. The physical attack caused Santana to recoil. Rubbing her arm painfully, she tackled the goose, eliciting a large honk. The two rolled around a bit, the goose appearing to have the advantage, when it slipped out of Santana's grasp and waddled quickly away.

I ran up to her to check her injuries. "You all right?"

She stared at her crimson colored arm, and mumbled, "yeah."

"We should probably put some ice on that," I offered stupidly.

Mia galloped up to us and exclaimed at Santana, "Man! That was so cool. You kicked that goose's butt!"

Santana smiled proudly at her stepsister, affectionately rubbing the short hairs from her forehead. She always was a bit of a fighter but this was a whole other level.

"You hungry?" she asked Mia.

"I want ice cream!" she yelled with enthusiasm.

There was an accord with this idea, so after I grabbed our things like a good mother, we walked to the nearby ice cream parlor. A few of Santana's friends sat inside upon the red 50's barstools, chatting animatedly. When they saw her enter, their faces brightened. Especially that of a cute blonde I recognized from my own grade.

"Hey Santana. What are you doing here?" asked one of the guys.

"How's it goin' Sam?" Santana responded suavely, her actions naturally taking on a whole new set of characteristics. She was becoming her popular self once again, the girl at school who only noticed me when I was hanging out with Beth and Shay. "I was just taking my sister out since there's a little bit of cabin fever going on at home," she joked.

Her friends laughed lightly. The blonde girl gave me an appraising glare.

"Are you with her?" she questioned with a tinge of arrogance.

Santana looked back at me apprehensively. "Um, well, yeah. We live close to each other and were both a little bored, so we came to the park…together."

Great way to be coherent San, I wanted to shout at her. Could she make me look any more like an outcast? I'm just the girl she hung out with on Saturday because I was readily available. Whatever's easiest, right?

"Oh," she said, as if finally understanding.

"Santana, can I get my ice cream now," probed her sister, impatiently.

She nodded at her, absent-mindedly handing her a five-dollar bill to get a scoop. Mia appeared nervous, wringing her hands and wrapping the money around her fingers.

"You want me to order for you?" I asked her gently. I wasn't invited in that little circle of superiority. Far be it for me to try to forge my way in.

Mia gazed at me and shook her head in a violent "yes."

Approaching the counter, with Emily in my arms, I ordered Mia a scoop of mint chocolate in a waffle cone, and myself a scoop of plain old vanilla in a cup.

"You can give this back to Santana," I told her, indicating the money in her small hands. "I'll pay for the ice cream."

Motioning me to lean down, Mia quickly whispered in my ear, "I don't like it when Santana is with her other friends. She ignores me and acts different, mean. But you're nice."

Smiling tightly, I headed for a deserted table to devour our ice cream. We sat there a moment without muttering a word. I enjoyed just being around Mia. She was the kid sister I never had, and I'd do anything in my power to treat her the way I'd always wished Amelia had.

"Do you like Santana?" inquired Mia, a green film encircling her mouth.

My eyes popped at her question. I didn't want to lie to her, but telling the truth would likely put me in hot water. I remember being ten, and the words "gossiper" does come to mind.

With a sigh, Mia said, "You don't have to tell me. I already know the truth."

Raising a wry eyebrow, I snickered. "You do? Please tell me, what is 'the truth'?"

"You like her of course!" she giggled at me. "I mean, you're always flushing around her, and staring and acting embarrassed. That's what all the girls and guys she's friends with do…except they clobber her too. It's gross…but you're so…I don't know. Different," she concluded with a triumphant grin.

I shook my head back and forth in disbelief. It was always amazing how innocence sometimes saw through misty words and hinted actions, down to the reality of the matter. Playing games and toying with people's minds was still incomprehensible yet.

"But it's good you like her," she offered with conviction. "I mean, she likes you too."

I coughed at that comment, choking on the vanilla ice cream currently blocking my airway.

"What?"

"She likes you," Mia repeated.

"How do _you_ know?" I pressed her for more information.

She gave a heavy, slightly irritated breath before saying, "because silly, she was a picture of you on her dresser. You guys are younger, about my age. But it's definitely you. I remember the blonde hair and bright blue eyes."

"We were friends for a long time. It's only natural that she'd have some kind of memorabilia to reflect that," I tried justifying.

"But she looks at it _all the time_. Just picking the picture of you two up and staring at it. She was really excited to spend today with you, but nervous too. I've never seen her nervous before."

"Thank you Mia, for your opinion on the matter. But take a look over there," I pointed where Santana sat with her 'real' friends. "Does that scream, Santana likes Brittany, to you?"

"She's just stupid!" huffed Mia.

But she doesn't really know the history between us, I told myself. I was the stupid one so long ago, and I shouldn't be bitter about how things are now.

"Santana, we're leaving to go to the swings," I told her casually as Mia carried Emily out the door. "Come join us when you're done here okay?"

She gazed at me shocked, from what I don't know. Maybe it was because I dared to speak to her in the presence of her elite. Or it could be because I hadn't acted mad about her ditching us. How easily I fooled everyone. Inside, I was seething.

Santana hadn't even responded before I breezed outside.

Mia set Emily on the grass beside the otherwise vacant swing-sets. Checking my watch, I found that it was already near four o'clock, and dusk had begun its descent.

"Want me to push you?"

"Sure," mumbled Mia, mindlessly rocking about on the swing.

As her momentum built, I shouted at her, "I'm going to do an underdog!"

Mia hooted in response. Underdogs were a big deal to a ten year old. So as her swing came back towards me, I grabbed the sides and pushed with all my might, following her forward from underneath. I had to crouch slightly, as a result of the low-set swings.

"That was awesome," laughed Mia giddily. I joined her.

"Well, what do we have here?" came an added raspy voice.

Seeing Santana, I stated to Mia, "Look who decided to grace us with her presence."

She snorted at me, and then went back to swinging.

Santana sat gracefully beside Emily in the grass, rubbing the tired baby's back caressingly.

I placed myself on the other side of the child, watching her sweet movements. Magnetically our eyes attracted to one another, and we held the gaze for sometime before the random laughter of youths' pulled our eyes away. She'd held that indiscernible emotion again, the same one I saw earlier in the truck.

"Maybe we should go," I whispered.

"You're right," she replied before jumping up, dusting her pants off and joining her sister at the swings. Any stranger would never guess that the two were only step siblings. They behaved better mannered that even blood relatives do.

Mia elicited a sigh, signaling that she did not want to leave yet, but reluctantly agreed. As we made our way back towards the truck, she hopped onto Santana's back to receive a piggyback the rest of the way.

I was really too tired to speak on the way home. Sometime during the ride Emily and Mia both fell asleep, and I envied their ability to rest under such conditions.

As we pulled up to my house, I slid from the vehicle and successfully retrieved Emily out of the back. Mitch said he'd be picking her up around seven, so I still had a few hours to go. Her lack of afternoon nap meant she'd spend the final hours with me resting.

"Hey Britt?" Santana called to me as I went to close the car door.

"What?" I asked, leaning back in.

She reached a hand out to touch the side of my face, running her fingers through the fine hair at my temple. "Thanks for inviting me today. It was fun, really."

I smiled at her and murmured, "Sure."

The awkward position I was in, holding Emily's car seat with the slumbering baby while simultaneously leaning into the car, began to put intolerable pressure upon my back, so I pulled out. Santana moved parallel with me, gaining the distance I'd lost. One finger ran its way down my chin, causing me to involuntarily shudder. "I'm sorry for what happened at the parlor," she offered.

Scowling, I began, "Santana, don't apologize for things you're not sorry for. I understand you have a whole other group of friends that you don't want me to mingle with. And I'm really glad that we're friends again. But if being your friend means staying in the shadows, then I'm not so sure _you're_ ready for a relationship with me. So think about that, okay? You need to decide if you do want to be my friend, no matter where we go together. I'm not just a close neighbor that you do things with because you're bored." I gave a hushed laugh, though my eyes held only seriousness.

"Good night," I bid with finality and walked inside.

I could only hope my tirade was enough to convince her to be my friend in the light of day, because I would be lost if she were to tell me no.

How does one live, without their heart?

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	8. Over thinking

**I'm loving the response to this story! Glad you all like it. Sorry this is a bit of a filler chapter, I will post the next one in a couple of days.**

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**Thanks again to everyone that read this!**

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I finally got a hold of Beth on Sunday evening when she called me. I'd been dialling her up all weekend, wanting the details of her time with Shay, and also gushing with need to describe my account with Santana. When the end of the weekend rolled around, Beth's mom was near her breaking point with my incessant calling, despite her happy nature. She even calmly asked me to refrain from phoning again, until Beth had successfully reached me first.

Relief coursed through me when I heard the soft voice of Beth on the end of the line, around nine o'clock.

"Where have you been?" I reprimanded, skipping customary salutations.

She hesitated a second before laughing lightly. "With Shay, m'dear."

"Well, that's just great," I responded, sarcastically mocking her dreamy tone. "But you've left me with no one to talk to! My own reflection was starting to look comforting."

Beth snorted ungracefully before saying, "Oh please. I heard through the grapevine that you spent all of Saturday with your current infatuation."

"Wha-what?" I choked out.

"That's what Shay told me anyways," Beth added. "One of his buddies told him. Who heard it from a girl that Shay's friend likes. I think she was actually there…"

"_Beth_!" I screamed into the phone. "You're listening to high school 'gossip' now?" The repulsed tone in my voice rang strong and clear.

She didn't miss a beat, responding cattily, "But is it true?"

Uh oh.

What now?

I didn't want to lie to Beth, but if I told her the truth then I'd be admitting to the reliability of gossip. What a difficult situation indeed.

"Yes it is," I mumbled, submitting.

Beth ignored the last comment I'd made, refraining from the petty I-told-you-so attitude.

"So do you want to hear about my weekend or not?" she giggly inquired.

I matched her airy laughter before saying, "That is the reason I've been bothering your mom all weekend. I swear she was going to send the dogs after me if I called your house one more time. Who knew you'd be so hard to get a hold of? Popular boyfriend makes popular girlfriend, I suppose."

"Better watch what you say," warned Beth. "You may be trying on my shoes sooner than you're prepared for."

"Huh?" I responded intelligently.

"You, Santana. Do you need to elaborate?"

The incredulous snort that followed was a mixture of my bitterness and disbelief in the credibility of Beth's statement. How could she honestly think that Santana and I would ever become more than just friends? It was surreal that she would even _want_ to be that much.

"Beth, you always was the romantic one. And while I wish I could be as naïve about love as you, my experiences have created in me an uncompromising bitterness." I despised the words the moment they tumbled from my mouth, but it was a habit of mine, speaking without thinking. And how pathetic, that such a bleak statement should be of my own judgment. Yet, my realistic mind persuaded fervently that they were, in fact, true. Love really was a joke, and my feelings for Santana were some part of mankind's natural perversity to inflict self-pain. But it was my inner-mind, my conscience that countered against my cynical state. Love was not the sentiment by which I suffered. I was simply _lovesick_.

I was lost.

"You know Britt," Beth began carefully. "People don't usually overrule their own expectations. If you think you will always fail, then it should come as no surprise to you when you do. If you belief that love only exists to inflict agony, I guarantee to you, that love in your life will cause exactly that." She sighed heavily, as if the focused conclusion drained all her strength. "Besides, you undermine yourself. I don't think you realize what a great person you truly are."

Confused by her latter statement, I responded, "What do you mean I'm a great person? What about me could possibly be _great_?"

"Think about it Brittany," she chided gently. "Think back before these past two weeks. Think way back, to when my mother was your mother's hospice worker. You remember?"

I found myself still puzzled by her sudden backtracking into old, painful territory. "Yeah…" I slowly said. "What about it?"

A momentary pause ensued before Beth spoke quietly into the phone. "I-I…I had no friends back then Britt. I was no one. And maybe it's horrible for me to say this, but I'm glad my mother took care of your mom when she was sick. Because, it brought me to you, or better said you to me. You probably don't realize how much you did for me, by just becoming my friend. I owe you so much."

Her words shocked me to the core. A dull ache settled in my heart, as I clutched my bed sheets in a death grip. By their own volition my hands began twirling loose strands of hair around jittery fingers. "Beth…" I whispered, unsure of how to respond to such a confession. "You did a lot for me too. I mean…I didn't have any friends either. Not after I kicked Santana out of my life."

She gasped softly. "What? You kicked her out of your life? But why? You're like, in love with her, and I can't imagine you ever forsaking her."

I had never told Beth about the night in the hospital, when I forced Santana to be a memory. It was too agonizing to bring forth the words from my mouth, so I simply left them to the recesses of my sense, always ebbing away at my lucidity.

I imagined Beth shifty on her floral comforter as she formed her next words. She was more tactful with her comments than I, thinking first rather than blurting out the first thing that comes to mind. "Britt…what happened?" she whispered so soothingly I wanted to cry that very instant. Her voice reminded me of my mother, my wonderful, gentle, deceased mother.

"She came to me," I choked out, "the evening I learned my mother would imminently die. Sh-she wanted to _comfort_ me, but I turned her away. I said that I needed to move on, past my mom's death, like a fresh start. My sister was gone and married, with a baby. Dad became a recluse. The only thing in my life that really reminded me of my past was…Santana. So I told her she needed to leave, and that way I could become a new person. A girl of stone."

Beth's only reply was heavy breathing. She was surprised, no doubt, by my admission.

"She was such a good friend," I cooed, as if lulling my soul to rest after a terrible nightmare.

"Wow Brittany," Beth said. "I never would've guessed. I just thought she blew you off for the popular group since she did behave rather wild and you didn't." Here she laughed softly. "I just thought your friendship burned out or something."

I nodded, oblivious to the fact that she could not see me.

We remained silent, dedicating the time to reflection. I had never spoken so much, as I did right then through the stillness.

"Anyways," I started. "I don't want to talk about my relationship with Santana." Then I coated my words with false sweetness as I switched topics. "But I would love to hear about you and Shay if you're still interested."

With hesitation, Beth agreed. She probably wanted to discuss my faltering with Santana a bit more, but I wasn't comfortable conceding such topics with her anymore. I do believe we both noted the chasm that grew between us each day. Like hot magma, our separation continually poured out the rift, pushing us further apart. And the more we ignored the situation; the harder it would be to find our way back through the darkness and pain. That was the very reason that people put off dealing with a sensitive problem. Procrastination does not only feed laziness, it wards off heartbreak. Except the obstacle keeps on building and building, until it snaps and the world around goes spiralling down. I'd seen this happen before, with Santana and me. It was happening again. But I wasn't sure I had courage enough to heed this warning. I'd be the first to acknowledge my cowardice. Acceptance wasn't, however, rationalization enough to ignore the storming landslide.

"…so we ended up going to the bowling alley instead," Beth explained.

"Whoa, whoa…wait a minute!" I interrupted, holding my holds up in a stopping command though my friend could not see my body gestures. "Shay…you…what?"

A heavy, exasperated sigh permeated the phone. I could almost feel the deep exhalation whistling in my ear. "You weren't listening?"

"Uh," I began, running possible reasons for my attention deficit.

"You've been trying to get a hold of me all weekend and when you finally do I'm too boring to keep your concentration? Thanks a lot Britt," Beth whined.

"My-uh-dad…yeah, my dad was-um-talking to me!" I declared with horrible finesse.

"Right…" she drew out. "Do you _want_ me to continue with my weekend story?"

"Yes." I was firm with my answer.

"Okay, so starting from the beginning…"

What followed was a picturesque account of Shay and Beth's love filled time together. Jealously swirled around my belly, like a fine wine.

At the end of the tale, I asked somewhat forcefully, "So are you guys actually dating now?"

"Yes!" Beth burst forth with a revival of enthusiasm. "Oh my gosh, it was so great Britt. We were sitting on those swivel chairs in the bowling alley after finishing our last game, and he just asked me. No signs of warning, no huge deal. He just took my hand and said, 'Beth do you want to be my girlfriend?' There's something sweet about the casualness of it. The simple way he questioned me made that bowling alley the most romantic place in the entire world." She paused here for a quick chuckle. "I think the neighboring bowlers got quite a show after that." I could imagine the scarlet blush that painted Beth's cheeks after that comment.

"My, my, my…" I stated. "Haven't the posters at school taught you anything? PDA go away! If you're kissing, there's something you're missing, so g_et to class!_ Do these slogans ring any bells?"

"Right…" she drawled out again . "Because if I were to model myself after anything at all, it would definitely be the cheap posters that the leadership class made."

Girlish laughter ensued. The very kind of giggling I always poked fun at during school when underclassmen would whisper loudly to one another about this hot guy or that sluttish girl. It was shameful.

Not long after, Beth and I bid our good-byes. The moment I had settled peacefully into bed, blankets positioned perfectly and heavy eyelids drooping, the phone rang out.

Grumbling incoherently, I picked it up and growled, "What?"

"Hey Brittany!" the voice greeted, oblivious to my rather rude opening. "This is Quinn."

Quinn. _Quinn?_ Why was she calling _me_, near ten o'clock on a Sunday night? It had better not be for homework help considering my brain was in the process of logging off.

"Sorry it's a bit late," she began in her usual bubbly voice. "But I've been on the phone for awhile now calling people and stuff. I really wanted to get this all done tonight, so that's the reason for the hour. Anyways, I'm inviting you to my party. Well, I already did," she laughed quietly to herself. "But now I have the specific _details_. It's at my house this Saturday, and if you want to come on the early side then be there around eight. Santana or Shay could probably give you a ride so you can find it and all. Let's see…is that it?"

"This Saturday?" I asked nervously.

A mental image of Quinn puckering her lips popped into mind as she said, "Yeah. Why? Are you busy that night?"

"No…" I mumbled, forcing the word from my mouth.

"Then what's the problem with it being this Saturday? It's not some bad omen like Friday the thirteenth or something?"

It'd be rather coincidental if the day of the party really did mark a superstitious holiday. Sadly, I wasn't the type to push Quinn into believing that. This social gathering would happen, if not this week then the next. I'd promised Beth I would go despite my aversions of doing so. It all came down to the fact that I was a major wuss. Large groups and me equalled…I actually didn't know since I'd never hung out with more than like five people at once, if you exclude family gatherings and teeter-tot birthdays.

"Nothing—nothing is wrong. I guess I'm just nervous…or something," I confessed to Quinn. It's not as if she couldn't already tell.

She chuckled in a kind way, almost reassuring. "It'll be okay. It's _just_ a party. And it won't make or break your future. Well…at least _my_ party won't do that." She resumed her laughter, although this time she directed it towards herself.

"You're not into the hard core partying then?" I attempted to incorporate a disappointed tone to my words.

Quinn gasped playfully. "This, coming from the girl who was nervous twenty seconds ago?"

"I _am_ a girl after all," I joked. "Everybody knows we can't make up our minds."

"It's a good thing I'm not a feminist or you'd be treading serious water here" she replied in a warning tone.

I responded unintentionally with a snort. "Things certainly seem to be in my favour then, don't they?"

"They sure do," she chirped. "Hopefully things will be in _my favour_ this Saturday! You know with Santana coming I'll finally have some one-on-one time with her. At least, that's what I'm planning on."

My natural reaction was to tense at this comment as predatory feelings surged through my veins. "Hmmm…hopefully," I replied in a fake singing tone.

She sighed heavily. "I like her _so_ much Brittany. She's so perfect. Well, as perfect as a girl can be."

"Yeah," I agreed wholeheartedly.

"Nice, understanding, good-looking…" she listed with a dreamy voice.

"Yeah!" I repeated again, this time to stop the wounds she unintentionally inflicted.

Santana would never be mine.

"I think I asked you this already," Quinn began on a new note. "But just to make sure…you're coming right?"

"Um…yeah—yes. I'm going" I affirmed.

"Great!" she piped back. "I've got other people to call still so I'm gonna go now. But thanks for coming. I think you'll have tons of fun if you just loosen up a little bit. Kick up your heels or skirts or whatever."

I laughed faintly as I hung up the phone. Cuddling under my sheets for the second time that night, I allowed sleep to overcome me. Peace.

I felt anxious on Monday. So, so anxious.

It was because of Santana. She was always on my mind, despite my efforts to think of other things. It was annoying, because I honestly didn't want to think of her all the time. I couldn't be me if I lived for someone else. But there was a hand on my heart, clenching. And it would pulse whenever I caught a glimpse her smooth raven hair, or the side of his face, dimple showing. Just a simple glance would render me breathless, hand desperately thrown onto a locker door grasping for a lifeline. That exhaustive feeling would tingle its way inside my knees and elbows, so that I could not sufficiently walk or hold anything.

I cannot surmise what brought about this behavior to such extremity. Sure, I knew I loved Santana. Sure, her mere presence would open my every pore. Sure, her words could raise the delicate hairs on my neck. But I had never acted so strangely before. So…desperate.

I suppose it was due to the fact that she had something for me, an answer, and I needed to hear it. Just one single word, "yes."

I didn't run into her at the beginning of the day, as she arrived to school late. While I slipped into my first period classroom, I saw her slender form racing the bell. I thought one award-winning smile from her would be enough to dismiss any tardy slips, but maybe I was a tad bit biased.

At lunch, she still failed to present herself. Remaining in an agonizing daze, I stood in line and bought a school lunch, careless to the fact that I packed a nutritionally balanced meal for myself every day. Robotically, I picked up a rubber burger and paid the cashier with the money I usually reserved for school cookies that were baked fresh at the student store. As I followed the sheep herd around an unsettling notion began to sprout into my thoughts.

It ran like this…perhaps Santana was purposely avoiding me. Maybe she had bad news to tell me, that she didn't want to be my friend when other people were around. I would be too much of an embarrassment to her, or the situation too awkward. She was never as cruel as to desire to inflict pain on others. So her guilty conscience told her to avoid me to evade confrontation.

As I plopped down next to Beth, a bitter thought came to mind. People pay the highest price for treasures of the world. They pay nothing for the dirt that coats their shoes. At that very moment, I felt like nothing more than scummy dirt.

I took my frustration out on my food by poking at it ferociously and tearing it into tiny bits. Birds sang sweetly on this unusually warm day in March. I wished I had a rifle with me so I could halt their happy tune.

Beth also watched me wryly, though she had no real clue as to my behavior. I'd never gotten around to telling her about my weekend with Santana. She knew the gist of the day, considering her grapevine connections, though I doubt the gossip included the whole "you need to be my friend _all _the time" part. However, I felt it would be rather odd to bring that up now, as Shay sat with us. Santana was one of his best friends. I couldn't very well talk about him with Shay around. I needed a way to spend my irritation and seeing as my food was totally mangled, I instead reverted to biting my nails, a habit I'd sworn I had broken. Funny how old things resurface so easily.

"Are you all right Britt?" asked Shay haltingly, while running a hand over his hair. Despite our common tie with Beth, the two of us didn't talk much; so inquiring into each other's state of mind was a bold step.

"Huh?" I responded, too lazy to form an acceptable answer.

He quirked the side of his mouth in a frown as a perturbed look settled across his countenance. I believe he mumbled a "never mind", though I didn't care enough to pay attention. Beth quickly grabbed his hand, stroking the underside of his wrist softly with her fingers. I watched as he settled his glance on her face, a sweet bedroom look sweeping his eyes.

A thought popped into my head at that moment. A green little thought filled with bitterness and jealously, though a primary feeling of adoration largely overshadowed these sentiments. _This is exactly what I want_.

There was a gentle touch on my arm. So light, I believed it only to be the sweep of my hair as it fell past my shoulder. But the tapping continued, and I turned curiously around.

Santana.

Her timing was impeccable.

"Yes?" I whispered so tenderly that an ache coursed through my heart. I had to place an open palmed hand over the area, so as to mollify the pain.

"Stand up," she ordered, though not unkindly.

I did so blindly, not thinking to disobey or question her command. Once I had reached my full height, I stepped over the bench I had previously been sitting on. Santana stared at me a moment, a small, confidant smirk on her lips, before reaching her arms lingeringly around me like the welcoming branches of a willow. Time surged forward at that instance. I vaguely remember the warmth of her embrace, the fire burning humiliatingly on my cheeks, and the rush of chatter surrounding me as this monumental event happened.

Afterwards I sat childishly down on my seat, clearly embarrassed. Santana laughed ethereally as she walked away, knowing not to try to force conversation with me. She'd unceasingly been attuned to my emotions, even as a kid, always knowing when and what to say. But I'm sure that it wasn't too difficult for her to infer my thoughts post hug. Crudely put, I had let it all hang out.

It wasn't until much later that coherent thought once again dawned on me. My jumbled turmoil finally pieced together the puzzle, why she had embraced me. I even laughed at the simplicity of her motives, when it had taken me so long to understand. She was publicly announcing to the student body that I was indeed her friend. But above all else, the hug had been a message to me.

Dear Brittany,

I want you.

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**Read, review & enjoy :) **


	9. Here goes everything

**Quick post today guys, sorry I didn't post during the week like I said, I was major busy but at least I can post now.**

**I will answer reviews and PMs when I get a chance, but in the mean time hope you like this chapter. **

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No sooner had I come to my rather obvious conclusion, did I begin to ponder my next plan of action. Santana had said her peace, and it was my turn to respond. But how? I wasn't opting for balloons and party poppers, but I needed to thank her in some way, without being overly girlish or sentimental.

Though no specific angle of approach came to mind, I still wiggled around in my seat during my final class of the day, impatient for school to end. I decided I would just find Santana after class. Though words were not of my eloquence, perhaps they would be in my favour for this one instance, as if by some miracle from God.

Or maybe not.

"Brittany, do you have something to ask me?" inquired Mr Shuester, my Spanish teacher. It was rather tough to have a foreign language class during my last period of the day, as thoughts of freedom stole my attention. Verb tenses and sentence structures became too much for me to handle due to my constant daydreaming. Luckily, Beth took the same language class, so she could help me with all confusing components of the homework.

I smiled cheekily at my teacher and replied sweetly, "Why do you say that Mr Shue?"

He set his mouth in a thin line, before responding. "You're moving around in your seat like you need to use the bathroom."

I blushed slightly at his comment, as twenty pairs of eyes focused on me, some laughing, others curious, and still some scornful.

"I don't need to use the bathroom," I said as I sank further into my desk.

"May I suggest sitting still then and beginning sus frases?" he asked me.

I nodded slightly and positioned myself so that I appeared to be doing my homework. Then, I resumed my daydreaming.

When the final bell rang, I shot out of my desk and clumsily packed my bag by shoving papers in randomly.

"Adiós," I called back at my teacher while exiting through the scuffed up door.

He didn't respond.

I made my way towards my locker, deciding it would be best to allow Santana some time to collect her things. I didn't want to seem stalker-ish by hovering around her like some kind of lovesick puppy. As I struggled with opening the lock, Beth came up beside me, mimicking my motions with her own locker.

"So…" she began casually.

"Yes, I'm going to go see Santana as soon as I've gathered all my books and such. I will call you and tell you if anything worth repeating happens, all right?" I said frankly.

Beth giggled for a second before saying a quick "thanks" and then chasing Shay down the hall. His face lit up when he saw her jogging towards him. He leaned down to place a peck on her cheek and then slipped his hand into hers as they left the school building.

I frowned slightly at that occurrence. Beth and I never talked much, but we certainly didn't run out on each other the moment someone of the opposite sex appeared. Shrugging at my selfish behavior, I resumed my attack on my locker. With a pounding of my fist the door finally sprang open, letting out a weird groan. I collected my things and began my pursuit of Santana. My destination was the large planters at the back of the school, where she and her friends tended to converse on the days when warm weather lured people outside. It was also the location of the student parking.

Sure enough, there was Santana, chatting animatedly with hand gestures and a goofy grin. She adjusted her top that had risen slightly as she stretched up. She wore a simple, solid white t-shirt that oddly enough, caused me to salivate unattractively as it stuck around her gorgeous body, matched with plain light blue skinny jeans and converse.

No uniform today?

I took cautious steps towards her, not wanting to intrude upon her fun but feeling like a coward if I were to back down. About halfway there a head of blonde silkiness intercepted me. It was Quinn.

"Hey Brittany!" she chirped in her usual friendly tone. "How are you?"

I cracked my fingers nervously, feeling quite startled by this unexpected obstacle on my path to Santana. "I'm fine," was all I could muster.

"Good," she nodded. Her eyes narrowed just a smidgen as she said, "So I saw you at lunch…with Santana." Quinn tried to keep the comment casual, but I picked up on the accusation in her voice.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. You guys hugged," she affirmed with a flip of her hair.

I bit my lip, and then responded with as much truth as I could bear to offer. "Santana and I sort of had a disagreement. She was just apologizing, in her own way." My explanation was a tad bit misleading, but I didn't know Quinn well enough to feel comfortable with revealing the entire situation to her.

Quinn's face lightened up at my comment. "Oh, okay! Well if that's her way of saying sorry then remind me to have arguments with her more often." With that, she waved an amiable goodbye and sashayed her way over to the girl in question. I noticed how she placed a delicate hand on the crook of Santana's arm affectionately. She glanced at her quickly before resuming her conversation with everyone.

Stunned and disarmed, I took a few steps back. Quinn had already marked her as her territory, and I had renounced my claim to her a while ago. It was only natural that she would feel a bit miffed if I appeared to be pursuing the girl she had asserted for herself. I understood her accusing tone and predatory behavior. Every inch of my body told me to act the same way.

As I stood staring, Santana happened to glance in my general direction. She did a double take at the statuesque position in which I placed myself. Shrugging off Quinn's arm gently, she bid a final word to her friends and walked over to me, walking in a curved path. As her approach neared the distance between us, my heart pulsed rapidly in this never-ending race of emotion.

She gave me the smallest, sweetest of smiles when only two feet lay between us. "Hey," she offered in a voice uncharacteristically low.

I could feel an alternating rhythm in my eyes that came whenever they twinkled like bright, shining stars. "Hi," was all I said back.

Friday arrived at a surprising speed. One second I was grumbling about having to start _yet another_ week of school, and the next I was bidding a final cheeky adiós to my lovely Spanish teacher. Beth and I had decided to do another shopping trip to commence our second double date with Shay and Santana. Well, at least _Beth_ liked to call it a double date. I referred to myself as the moral support, or pathetically known as the tagalong. If Beth felt uncomfortable with any part of the evening, I'd be there to pep talk her back into that happy go lucky mood.

We headed to the mall to purchase trendy outfits that we would likely never wear again, just because it was the typical thing to do. Everyone stresses so much about being an individual these days that sometimes they overlook how relieving it can be to just act normal for once. It's comforting to simply meld in and join the crowd, instead of always sailing above it. Of course, there's the potential of losing yourself within the millions. I guess you can't have the high points of both worlds though.

As we searched through layers of hideously crafted clothing I said to Beth, "I'm not sure I can handle wearing any of these things. Even if it's only for one night." To prove my point I held up a top that was cut low, backless, and made of fleshy material so thin I thought perhaps it was my hand that gave the shirt its color.

Beth nodded in silent agreement before resuming her scouring of the perfect piece to flaunt tomorrow.

"Try to keep it on the modest side," I ordered her. "You've got Shay, so there's no point in attracting other men."

She raised a wry eyebrow at me before replying, "But Britt, my prison warden's outfit is at the drycleaners right now. I _know_ it won't be clean by tomorrow." She finished her sarcastic remark with a convincing pout of her lips.

Rolling my eyes, I said pointedly at her, "I just, I don't want you to become his trophy girl."

She laughed musically at me, as if my remark has been a silly joke. Never mind the fact that I was dead serious. "I'm _not_ going to become his 'trophy girl'! First of all," she ticked off on her fingers, "There are way sexier girls that Shay could date if he wanted some bimbo to show off to his friends. Second of all, I'm way too humble to ever behave like some blow up doll he ordered off of an infomercial. Third and most importantly of all, Shay respects me. _Me! _Not who I could be, not me if I were prettier, or more popular. So just trust me Britt. I'm your best friend, and I know that means you're naturally overprotective of me. But really, I'll be fine."

I flared my nostrils at Beth before handing her a long sleeved cotton t-shirt that revealed nothing. "Try this on," my commands kept coming.

"Yes sir!" she mock-saluted before marching to the dressing rooms, singing a faint left-right-left chant.

I leaned myself against the door of the room as she changed into what, I'm sure, was a horrible article of clothing. A thick piece of particleboard smacked the back of my head, marking that Beth was done dressing.

"Ow!" I complained, rubbing the already dull throb that settled at the base of my skull. This shopping trip really had become a painful adventure.

She didn't give my injury a second thought, as she waved her arms in the air to emphasize the atrocious shirt I'd given her to wear. The sleeves reached two inches short of her wrist bones. The collar was surprising tight, considering how loose the shirt hung around the rest of her top half.

"I like it!" I enthused with a malicious grin.

She smacked my head dangerously close to the tiny bump already forming, and I returned her motion with a threatening glare.

"I'm just joking stupid," I told her, exasperated. "Now let's go find something suitable for you. Something that mother would most definitely approve of."

Raising her nose in the air and flicking chocolate colored hair over her shoulder, she replied, "My mother actually told me to dress a bit more…how shall we say this...mature?"

"What?" I replied disbelieving. "Your mother's a nurse. She comprehends the operations of the male sex."

Beth waved me off to continue the search for the 'perfect' outfit, ignoring my latter comment completely.

Finally after scourging several more stores, our shopping adventure was completed. All I had to show for it was a black sleeveless top that was outlined in lace. It wasn't very provocative, but a large step outside of my usual sweatshirt and jeans. Beth tried to convince me to buy a tight pair of pants I'd tried on, but I refused adamantly, claiming that I didn't approve of the butt wrinkles that formed from the stretching material. It was likely that the moment I sat down in the alleged pair of pants they'd rip along the seam. Beth was only left with the choice of accepted my opinion and moving on.

She however, had coordinated quite a nice getup from the evening. It consisted of a mid thigh skirt that flared out in a large ruffle. The material was plain solid black. Her shirt was made of slinky red fabric that I persistently wanted to pet. This fact reminded me of an important issue, so when she went to purchase the top I said, "Beth, don't let any guy get away with groping you on the grounds that he just wanted to feel how smooth your shirt was, all right?"

She simply rolled her eyes.

And then it was Saturday night. This time I was at Beth's house preparing for the party. And when I say preparing I mean alternating between rushing to the bathroom with flushed cheeks, ready to hurl, and standing in front of the mirror with a shocked expression. I really was pathetic.

It's just a party. It's just a party. It's just a party; I repeated the mantra over and over.

It's just a party…with Santana!

And _Quinn_.

And my ragingly jealous feelings, which I would keep in my purse…just in case.

Beth, utilizing the power of her nimble fingers, weaved magic through my hair. The tugging on my head allowed me to focus on other things besides Santana and Quinn and my already established, ragingly jealous feelings. She twisted it up in a roll with curls spilling out at the top, some of which she twirled and pinned into small rings. To adorn the short locks of hair that framed my face, which could be considered bangs since they refused to grow longer than my index finger, she placed a silver headband that was quickly swallowed by my jungle mane. Along the side of the roll, Beth inserted several tiny silk roses the color of midnight. They complimented the black lace on my top nicely. Miraculously, for a second time in a _long_ _time_, I felt beautiful, stunning and energetic, eager and in love.

Lying casually on Beth's bed, I watched my best friend getting ready. My flip-flops began padding against my heels, keeping in time with the flurry of fingers and pressing of hands that choreographed Beth's motions.

"You're going to look great tonight," I offered, after the silence drew from me a listless mentality

She glanced quickly in my direction before resuming focus on her reflection. Beth stared so intently at the copy image that I felt for sure she'd burn a hole right through any flaw her over-scrutinizing eyes might detect.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall…" I chanted, wanting nothing more than to ease my companion's nervousness. "Honestly Beth, you really _do _look fabulous. Marvellous darling. Stupendous…any o-u-s ending adjective I can think of. Except maybe perilous. And dangerous too, I suppose. Although it could be intriguing to look dangerous. I bet Shay would like that…"

"Brittany!" she screeched before staring me with the eye of a falcon. "You need to stop."

I shrugged, zipped my mouth shut, locked it and threw out the key.

Only then did Beth laugh, her usual, musically inclined laughter that rang throughout the entire room, resonating with warmth. It was the heartfelt kind of laughter you could listen to forever.

"Who knew the social scene would be so stressful?" she rhetorically asked.

Once again I shrugged, still playing up my silence.

Catching on quickly, Beth said, "You can talk now."

I mumbled with a closed mouth, "I can't unlock them, I threw out the key." It sounded more like, "Uh, an uhnlo hm, uh hew ouy uh ee."

"Dude," Beth said with a smile. "Don't act like you're five years old."

I grinned cheekily like the Cheshire Cat. Beth raised her eyebrow at the toothy smile, moreover grimace that was planted across my face.

"That really isn't a great look for you Britt."

"Whatever could you be speaking of?" I replied innocently, with a finger on my chin. "I mean, I look good every way." I always found in peculiar that the people most uncomfortable with who they are constantly make conceited, egoistical jokes, i.e. me.

"Okay," Beth droned out in a not-so-convincing voice.

"What?" I spat out, exasperated. "Are you calling me ugly?" Now I was only looking for trouble, but my currently nervous sentiment begged I relieve these fluttering feelings that had caused hands to perspire and toes to run cold.

Beth glared, and held up her index and middle finger on her left hand.

"Peace?" I pondered hopefully.

Pursing her lips, she shook her head in the negatory. "No, Brittany," she began as if speaking to a child. Why did it seem like she was using that tone with me a lot lately? "This," Beth gestured to her fingers, "means two."

"Oh!" I gasped, smacking my forehead. "How silly of me."

Beth continued on, "And two stands for two strikes. One more strike and you're out, basic principles of baseball."

"So what happens when I strike out?" I asked, still pushing my limits.

"Do you really want to find out?" She countered in a threatening voice.

I scratched my head for a moment and then responded. "Ah, maybe later. Right now I gotta pee." And with that, I headed down the hall towards the bathroom.

A disgusted snort followed my comment.

After I had finished in the bathroom, I returned back to Beth's room to find my friend sitting stoically by her desk.

I opened my mouth to say something, but Beth beat me to it. "Britt?" The way she said my name sent a shudder down my spine. It was almost as if she was speaking to me from another room, as her words sounded distant and muffled.

"What's up girlie?"

"Do you think I should, I should tell him?" She was so hesitant and uncertain. Her question left me utterly perplexed.

"Who?"

"_Him_," she emphasized, almost as if saying his name would tear her apart.

"Okay…tell him what?" I opted for a different piece of the puzzle.

My inclination was to believe the 'him' she referred to was Shay. What other man was a prominent figure in her life? Well…besides her dad. Why would she be asking me advice about her dad though?

Beth remained silent for a long time. I assumed she was only forming what she wished to say. But the silence extended from a moment, into a minute, into two minutes, into an uncomfortable situation.

"Uh, Beth?" I piped up, snapping my fingers once in front of her face for effect.

Her eyes focused on mine, and she smiled slightly. "What?" It was as if she had never asked me the question, as if the last few minutes never happened.

"Nothing," I whispered. Reaching out a hand, I grabbed Beth's wrist and led her downstairs towards her mother's appraisal. Ruth was well known, among her friends at least, for her physique critiques.

"Mom!" Beth called out in that whiney voice saved especially for children to address their mothers. "We're done."

Out from around a corner emerged Ruth with appetizers in hand. Her hair was frazzled from a hard day's work and her mouth was stained red by an earlier application of lipstick. Despite her somewhat disorderly appearance, charisma omitted throughout her eyes and smile.

"Oh darlings!" she squealed with youthfulness. "You both look so gorgeous. Beth, are you going to be comfortable in that skirt?" she asked, switching to mom mode.

"Yes…" my friend sighed with an exaggerated shrug of her shoulders.

"Wouldn't you prefer to be in jeans, like Brittany?" Ruth offered with a hopeful air.

"_Mom!_ You're the one who said I should dress more mature. This is mature!"

I laughed at their spectacle then decided to intercede with a question of my own. "Hey Ruth, what's all the munchies for?"

Beth's mother looked down at her platter in hand and then smiled. "For you children of course. I thought that when the others came over, you all could sit and have something to eat before they whisked you off on their white steeds." Her latter comment was said with a playful wink.

"No way mom!" Beth nearly screamed. "When they come I'm running out of this house."

I broke down into hysterics at Beth's panicked behavior. I had never seen her act like this before, but then again she had never been any boy's girlfriend before either.

It took much convincing and soothing words to calm her down and have her agree to a few minutes chatting inside.

"I'm just worried about you girls," admitted Ruth. She pinched the flesh near my elbow as she said, "You don't eat nearly as much as you should. Look how skinny you are!" she remarked by pulling my skin out farther. I winced slightly, but let Ruth have her tirade. "There probably is no sustenance at these parties, and I'd feel better knowing you went on full stomachs. No passing out from low blood sugar for either of my lovely daughters."

I beamed at the endearing way in which Ruth had referred to me.

Daughter.

A pounding alerted the senses of us three women, as our heads darted towards the front door. As if on key my pulse began quickening and my arm hairs stood on end.

With a swoosh Ruth made her way towards the demanding sound. A friendly countenance settled upon her face as she burst open the door and greeted Shay and Santana. "Hello Shay. And…you are?"

A mumbled reply of Santana danced its way into my hearing.

"Oh Santana. Brittany talks so much about you!"

My mouth dropped and cheeks flamed. Thank the Lord I was hidden from view, else I would have died right then and there from embarrassment. Beth stifled a giggle beside me, at my obvious discomposure. I sent her a steely glare and mouthed the words "your time is coming". She stuck her tongue out in return.

Back at the front door, Ruth was continuing her congenial small talk. "Do come in, do come in!" she ushered with sweeping hands. "I've put out a few snacks for you all to munch on." Shay scrambled inside at the mention of food followed by a slow moving Santana.

Beth and I stood there, slightly dishevelled, as we came into contact with our counterparts.

"You look good tonight Brit,Britt," Santana spoke first, while simultaneously drawing me aside. I gave her a small, modest smile and glanced at Shay and Beth. The duo were touching hands softly and speaking just as delicately to each other. My heart fluttered at the sight.

"Thank you," I responded to her comment finally. I still watched my best friend.

Santana placed a hand on my waist and guided me to the couch, sitting down next to me. No sooner had we sat down did Shay walk over and attack the platter of food.

"Do you ever get full?" Beth questioned him, while eyeing the manner in which he devoured the crackers and cheese.

He grinned at her, with crumbs decorating the corners of his mouth. "No."

She bit her bottom lip in a partially suppressed smirk. "Figures."

Santana and I just laughed at Shay's actions.

The four of us sat there as Shay finished half of what was on the plate, before heading off. Santana, Beth and I hadn't touched one speck of food that her mother attested was for us with our chicken legs.

"Bye mom!" Beth called out, as we exited her house in a collective group. Shay held her hand as she walked down the four steps of her porch onto the driveway. The gesture reminded me of sweet teenage love.

I hastily grabbed Beth and shoved her into the backseat with me before anyone could motion to protest. Call it spite, but something deep inside me did not want to sit next to Santana, like I had on that night of rectifications.

"We need to talk about…things," I explained with a forced giggle.

The look of Shay's face was a sign of mentally backing down. He probably assumed we would be speaking of girly things, the sort of things that even the most crude of boys skulk at the thought of.

Santana appeared indifferent, as was customary.

When the jeep jumped to life, sending that familiar rumble throughout my back, I leaned over to Beth and whispered, "Are you nervous?"

I expected her to ignore me, or snap some comment about how we'd already gone over this question, but instead she reached for my hand and squeezed it tightly before letting go. "Remember it's just a party Britt. Seriously. _Just a party_," she spoke as if convincing herself as well. "In the end, you'll still be Brittany, my best friend ever. And I'll still be Beth, your best friend."

"_And_ Shay's girlfriend," I added quickly.

"More importantly your friend," she accentuated. With those four words, the encumbrance that had weighed heavy on my thoughts lifted away. She had admitted that being my friend was of more importance to her than being Shay's girlfriend. My resentment and jealousy towards Beth now seemed petty and stupid. I should have known that in the end, Beth would remember who would stick around for her.

"Right back at ya sister," I told Beth in a hushed voice.

She winked, and then faced forward. We didn't speak for the duration of the trip.

Pulling up to Quinn's house, caught me by surprise. And not because of the stunning architecture, or extravagant furnishings. What astonished me was that the house was absolutely normal, which probably goes with the whole 'don't judge a book by its cover'. Simply because Quinn was pretty, popular, and dressed nicely didn't mean she lived in Beverly Hills. I suppose the house's real claim-to-fame would be the acre on which the structure pleasantly sat. It was two stories, though the second level appeared rather small. It had the typical painted shutters and the front door coordinated to match. There was no fence to set perimeter to the house, so I could see the congregating of people in the backyard. Quinn was a smart girl, and she knew to keep people outside as much as possible for the sake of cleanup afterwards.

I hopped out of the car once we had come to halt, and wiped my palms lazily against my pants. Hazy front porch lights illuminated the long driveway as we walked towards the gathering, with rocks crunching beneath our shoes.

I recognized a few people among the many that already swarmed Quinn's backyard. Some of them had plastic blue cups in hand, occasionally taking a sip. I did, however, spot a few who wasted no time in downing drink after drink. My head shook slightly in disappointment.

The music was echoing through the air, the bump-bump-bump-bump rhythm settling in my bones. I could feel it taking over, begging me to loosen up and relax. Its pounding felt like the painfully pleasant hands of a masseuse. Beside me Beth began swaying with the beat, apparently feeling the same soothing power.

"Here goes nothing," she giggled at me as Quinn spotted us, or rather Santana, from across the patio and made her way over.

"Nah," I responded languidly. "Here goes _everything_."

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**Read, review & enjoy!**


	10. The party

**OMG how good was 100! I absolutely loved every part of it! What did everyone else think? That Brittany and Santana Duet was needed and the unholy trinity number, ahh I just loved it all! That Brittana kiss though. It was so good seeing Heather back on glee and now I'm even more excited for the next episode! **

**Thanks for all the reviews, follows & favs, and for all you lovely readers here's the next chapter, with a little Brittana fluff for all of you waiting for it ;)**

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Swaying back and forth slightly, I felt my hip bump into something sturdy…or rather _someone_. I turned my head in the direction of the gentle collision to find Santana standing next to me, with her eyes set upon the approaching female, Quinn. I wondered for a moment if it was I who had unconsciously sashayed my way over to her, or if instead she had come to stand near me. I lifted a silent prayer that it was the latter. Biting my bottom lip, I manoeuvred a few steps away from Santana, more so for my sanity than personal comfort zone.

"Hey Brittany!" came an intrusive voice that I quickly found belonged to Quinn. She was standing before me in short denim shorts and a tank top, opting for a semi casual look for this evening. "Hi Quinn. Great party you have going here," I offered as a greeting because I felt that as a guest, I was required to give some kind of compliment.

"Hello…Santana," she said in a sultry tone that I had never heard her use on anyone before. I looked at Santana to see her reaction, a part of me begging that she just shrug Quinn off. In reaction to Quinn's greeting, Santana merely nodded. Mentally I shouted with joy, but physically I remained still, while I watched their interaction.

Opening her mouth, and then shutting it again, Santana finally managed to spit out, "You have a really nice home." She then glanced at me with what I sensed as nervousness.

Numbness poured throughout my body as I realized that Santana was uncomfortable talking to Quinn with me around. I felt almost betrayed by this revelation. Faintly I heard Quinn giggle, "What are you talking about? You've been here before…"

I interrupted what she was saying by quickly mumbling out, "I-I…I, um, need to-uh, go…over there," I pointed in some random direction. "Because I see someone I think I-uh…someone I…know." Scampering away without waiting for a response from Santana or Quinn, I mentally berated myself for my horrible exit. There was no way that my excuse had not sounded in the least bit conspicuous. Talk about smooth.

I began wandering around aimlessly, since parties were not of my social scene and I had no real idea what I was supposed to do. Had I asked Santana or Shay, they probably would have laughed or scoffed at me, and said, "You just hang out." Problem was, I didn't have anyone to hang out with. Shay and Beth had already mysteriously disappeared, and I hoped it wasn't to go make-out. I had sworn myself away from Quinn and Santana, or at least when they were in each other's presence, so that left me stranded with no one to talk to. How utterly pathetic.

There was a heavy tapping, which resembled more the drive of a hammer than the gentle touch tapping is usually associated with, upon my shoulder. Reluctantly, I turned around to face the huge grin of some guy already half-plastered. "Yes?" I inquired coldly, trying to chill away this unwanted guest with my frostiness.

"You're hot. You wanna drink?" he offered, while shoving a blue cup in my face. Beer sloshed over the sides and dripped onto my arm. "Oh shit," he mumbled, while using his t-shirt to dry the liquid. I yelped at his touch, and backed away hurriedly.

"It-it's okay," I stuttered. "I'll clean it up myself." With that, I turned and made my way through the accumulating crowd towards the backdoor of Quinn's house. I was just glad to get away from that creep, who thankfully I didn't recognize from school. There was a good chance I'd never have to see him again.

As I passed through the people, I took faint notice that another guy offered me a beer. I hastily declined his offer, before finally stepping inside the house. To my dismay the inside was even more so crowded than it was outside. I had to weave my way through heated bodies in order to search for a bathroom.

I came upon a clearing, and to my pleasant surprise, found myself in the dining room, which was connected to the kitchen by swinging doors. Because I knew there had to be a sink in there, and I was in dire need to wash the stickiness of dried beer off my arm, I decided that the kitchen would work well enough to clean myself up. I smiled when I entered the room, thoroughly enjoying the sunflower theme Quinn's mother had used to decorate. The counters were covered in white tiles, with an occasional green tile added to provide pattern to the room. I grabbed a dishtowel adorned with one big sunflower print that seemed almost to smile brightly at me. Dampening the cloth, I rubbed furiously at my arm, wanting to wash away any remnants of that creepy guy with his stupid liquor.

Unknowingly, I began humming the beat to the song that had been playing when I first arrived. The song was foreign to me, but the tune was catchy in a good way. Not anything like those annoying pop songs that run the chorus through your head all day, despite better attempts to rid your mind of any musical vices.

A freezing cold splash startled me out of my singing. "Ah!" I screamed suddenly as the unexpected stream of water dripped down my back. I whipped around to see the lopsided grin of Shay, as he proudly held the spray nozzle that belonged to the sink pointed daringly at me. "You scared me," I panted, still too shocked to be angry at all. Plus, the silly look on his face reminded me of a playful puppy.

"Aw, Brittany got scared?" Shay responded, with an impish smile on his lips.

I raised an irritated eyebrow at him, before losing my serious demeanor entirely and laughing loudly. "I'm all wet," I said stupidly, while simultaneously pulling my soaked shirt away from my back. Shay chuckled at the sight of me trying to twist my arms around to get the wet fabric off of my chilled back. "Why'd you spray me?" I spat out, as my aggravation turned into outrage.

"You just looked so innocent there, washing off your arm and humming. I couldn't help myself."

"Yeah, yeah," I muttered with a wave of my arm. "Like I haven't heard that line before." Suddenly it donned on me that Beth wasn't with them. "Where's your girlfriend?" I asked.

He gave a nonchalant shrug whilst scratching his head, and in response to my incredulous gaping, grinned. "I left her in the family room for a minute so that I could get a drink." He waved towards the sink, and it was only then that I noticed it was filled with ice and soda.

"Oh," I mumbled.

"Designated driver tonight," Shay laughed lightly. "So I'm just sticking to Dr Pepper."

I grinned back at him and said coyly, "Well that's comforting…really." Shay winked at me before heading back from where I presumed he came from. A moment's desperation sunk in as I remembered that I would be left all alone again with no one to talk to.

"You coming?" I jumped at the voice and whipped my head up to see Shay poking around a corner. "Unless, of course, you have other plans," he added dryly.

"No…_no_," I added more forcefully the second time. "I'm coming."

I was led into a homey room with a cream color scheme. I discovered the couches, blanketed in maroon slipcovers, to be quite cushy as I flopped down ungracefully on them. Shay sat in between Beth and I, and some other people I did not know rested upon the other couch while we zoned our attentions towards the television. To my surprise, I saw the movie showing was "LOL", and not one of those typical teen-let's-be-as-perverted-as-possible films.

"Who picked the movie?" I asked, curious.

Shay raised a steady hand and said firmly, "It was me." The conviction and manliness in his voice caused Beth and me to laugh. "What?" he asked indignantly, throwing his hands palm up.

"I always thought of 'LOL' as a girly movie," I provided.

Shay scoffed in return before saying, "Whatever! I like this movie, and so does…Santana." The way he mentioned Santana almost sounded as if it were a greeting. Inquiringly, I turned my head around to see if, in fact, Santana had graced us with her presence. Sure enough, there she stood with a small, confident smile adorning her face. She had her hands behind her back as she stood there watching the movie.

"Why don't you join us?" Shay asked Santana.

Sweeping her eyes over Beth, Shay and then what I could have sworn to be lingeringly on me, she shook her head in the negative. "I don't think there's room for me." As if to solve the problem, Shay scooped up a shocked Beth and plopped her down on his lap. He then shifted over so that a gap lay between him and me.

"There's room for you now," Shay said with a smirk on his lips. He pointed down at the vacant spot and added "Brittany won't mind getting kind of cozy with you." My mouth dropped open at his statement, while heat rushed to my face, coloring it rosy. I was eternally grateful for the darkness the room provided, since we were watching a movie.

"Uh…okay," Santana said unsteadily. I noted the way in which she hesitated with her response, and so I smiled brightly at her.

"I think this whole party is squished, so it's not like sitting by me will be any different," I said lightly, in an almost blatantly fake tone.

Santana nodded once and offered a quiet "sure."

After about ten minutes of uncomfortable silence passed, I turned to Santana and asked in a hushed voice, "Do you _really_ like this movie?" My question hinted towards the doubt I had to Shay's earlier comment.

Santana failed to respond for some time, and I was just about to turn back when she said, "Yeah. It's alright, for a girly movie."

"It's _not_ a girly movie!" Shay interjected with indignation.

"Whatever," Santana replied offhandedly. "You just like the romance between Miley Cyrus' character and that guy, Kyle." She said, with a wave of her hand.

Shay's chest puffed out, as if to signify his dominance, while he denied Santana's claim. "I _do not_ like all the romance."

Santana turned her eyes pointedly on Shay and raised a cocky eyebrow. "Then why," she emphasized, "do you always sigh when they finally get together?" The entire group busted out laughing at this comment, as Shay probably turned the color of beetroot. I could not, however, tell if he did or not, due to the darkness.

"Shut the hell up man," Shay muttered grumpily. He then took Beth's hand and nuzzled it against his jaw, settling down and returning his sights to the not-so-girly movie.

I watched for another ten minutes until I grew rather restless. Adrenaline was still pumping through my veins from my earlier anxiety about coming tonight. I began shifting agitatedly on the couch back and forth until Santana finally commented, "Stop moving Britt, do you have ants in your pants?"

I gaped openly at her comment and then let out a high-pitched laugh. "Did you just say 'ants in your pants'? Dude what are you, eighteen, or eight?" I resumed my giggling, while clutching my sides, which had begun to burn.

"There's nothing wrong with saying that! It's a very descriptive phrase," Santana scoffed, clearly irked at my reaction to her statement.

"Yeah right," I responded. "Kind of like how 'LOL' isn't a girly movie."

"It's not!" Shay remarked, with a stomp of his foot. As Santana and I laughed in response to Shay, I took in a faint smell of alcohol on Santana's breath. This observation didn't surprise me any, but naïve as I was, I felt slightly set off by the fact.

"Right…" I began oddly. Several confused faces turned towards me. "I'm leaving now because I'm bored." My cheeks blushed furiously after I finished speaking, and I could've sworn one or two people rolled their eyes at my pointless comment.

"Okay," Beth said brightly, almost as if to save me from the embarrassment, a little too late. Shay only nodded his head disinterestedly, like he was still miffed about my giggling at him. He really needed to grow up.

I got up and wiped my sweaty palms nervously on my pants before leaving. No one followed. I had expected this, but I still felt a bit letdown. I wandered towards the sounds of pumping music, remembering how relaxed I had felt earlier around the steady beats. Stepping outside to the slightly humid, yet altogether cool night, I took in the closely dancing bodies. Girls and guys swayed together as they grouped around on the patio. I took a few nervous steps towards the dancing, having decided there wasn't anything else for me to do but drink or dance.

For the first few moments I stood awkwardly on the outside of dancing, before some random hand grabbed my arm and pulled me into the group. I faintly noticed the masculinity of the limb before losing the hand to all the other flailing body parts. I began moving back and forth on my own accord, not really caring that I sucked terribly at dancing. An arm snaked around my waist and pulled me closer to someone's warm body. I took no heed of whoever it was, feeling entirely content just swaying to the foreign beat. However, when fingers began trailing north and hot breath became more prevalent on my neck, I scooted away hurriedly. With a quick glance, I noted the complete stranger who was now giving me a cheeky grin. He winked once before turning around to attack his next female victim. Shrugging my shoulders, I began dancing once again.

I stayed there, in the dancing pit, for some time. When sweat began trickling down the sides of my face and my breaths grew shorter, I decided it was time for me to take a break. Pride swelled in my chest as I complimented myself on branching out. Reclusive me would have never danced with strangers. Regardless of the fact that no one took notice of my presence for more than groping purposes, I still felt oddly pleased that I had put myself out there. Perhaps it was only a baby step, but progress all the same.

Heading back inside, I made my way into the living room. A new film was playing, one that I didn't recognize. With a hurried scan of the inhabitants on the couches, I realized that I knew no one present. My head, however, would not let me panic at my seeming abandonment. Exhaustion won this time, and I plopped down heavily onto the only open space. A half-plastered guy smiled lazily at me, and then directed his attentions back at the T.V. screen. I was glad I didn't have to deal with yet another drunk guy.

The shadowed room and comfy seat I was placed upon brought weariness into my thoughts. I yawned once, a long open mouthed one. The guy beside me followed my actions with his own yawn before beginning to laugh hysterically.

Staring at him strangely, I deadpanned, "What?"

"When you yawned, it made me yawn. Just thinking about yawning makes me want to yawn," he explained in a slurred tone. His words were slow yet excited.

Hearing all the talk about yawning, I repeated my earlier behavior by yawning once again. "You're right," I smiled. A tiny giggle escaped my mouth.

The guy returned my gesture, and then focused his attentions back on the screen. Under normal circumstances I would have totally felt shrugged off, but this night was entirely new to me so I let it go. Besides, tiredness had returned full-force throughout my body. Unconsciously, I snuggled against the armrest.

There were sounds, murmuring. Voices I didn't recognize and words I couldn't puzzle together. The world was dark, which only further aggravated my ineptness at discerning what was going on around me. I shifted slightly, arching my back. A small yelp sounded as I plunked to the floor ungracefully. The unexpected fall seemed to bring my mind to where I was, as my eyes shot open. A ceiling fan whirled above me, and several pairs of feet stood right beside my head.

"Need a hand?" the question was asked as said limb was extended towards me. I took the hand unthinkingly and felt a whoosh as I was pulled up.

"Thanks," I mumbled, unable to meet the eyes of whoever had aided me.

"Sure," a female voice responded. A soft padding of feet told me she had turned and left the room. I let out a sigh and shook my head once to clear my thoughts. Apparently I had fallen asleep.

I scanned the room for a clock. One sat above the mantel, ticking away steadily despite the shakiness I felt in my own world. It read 12:15, which meant I had been asleep for nearly an hour. Enough time for events to alter around me entirely.

I suddenly noticed a heavy pressure, like that of a ball, weighing on my gut. With a rushing thought, I realized that I had a dire need for the restroom facilities. I walked in an awkward manner towards the doors of the hall, opening each hesitantly with fear of what I might come face to face with. When I finally did come across the downstairs restroom, I found it occupied with a rather…eager couple. I swiftly shut the door; heedless of the loud bang it gave, and hurried towards the stairs. The hallway leading upstairs was not lit, which gave me hope that people had not ventured there. Seeing as I wasn't entirely ignorant to the actions of teenagers, I decided my hope was pretty empty.

A faint light illuminated under the doorway of one of the rooms. I rapped once on the door, and when no sound was heard, entered slowly. To my surprise, a girl stood huddled over the sink. Her hair was slightly matted, and black makeup ran down from her eyes across pale, smooth cheeks. She turned a sorrowful face in my direction, and I unconsciously took a step back at the vividness of her artic blue eyes.

Staring a moment at each other she then asked blatantly, "Am I beautiful?" Her voice quivered from some unspoken pain.

"Um…" I trailed, caught off guard by her question. My hesitation seemed answer enough as she burst into a new set of tears and ran elegant hands down her face.

"I tried…" she began and then stopped. A low wail coiled around my heart, but I showed no pity for her. I was almost comatose.

My voiced sounded raw, as I repeated her words. "I tried?"

The gentle probing of my tone convinced her into continuing as she said, "I tried to be…perfect for him. What he wanted. A beautiful girl. One who got along with his friends, but never acted interested in them. The kind of girl they'd drool over, but never have. He wanted to make his ex-girlfriend jealous. He did."

My bladder was pounding, begging release. I shifted my weight back and forth upon the soles of my feet, and then felt guilty for thinking about using the bathroom when this girl in front me was sharing her thoughts of inadequacy.

"I…" tears escaped her eyes, rolling down quickly as first and then slowing as they smoothed over her mouth. She licked her lips once, which I'm sure tasted of salt. "I served my purpose. She asked him to come back. She asked him tonight. I saw them, making up. I saw him hug her and tell her he loved her. I saw her kiss him and throw her arms around his neck. A boa constrictor."

I didn't think this girl even knew I was there anymore. Her eyes were faint, as if pain had dimmed them. Agony could really extinguish a person, make them only a figment of what they once were. I'd seen it happen, to my dad. I'd felt it happen…to me.

"I think you're beautiful," I told her, tender honestly rigging strongly in my words. She seemed startled, and whipped her head in my direction. I was struck, once again, with how intense her eyes were.

"You do?" she responded doubtfully. "It's a lie."

"No," I replied adamantly. I took the hand-towel from off of its ring on the wall and dampened it with warm water. "It's not." I wiped away her makeup stains gingerly. She stared at the towel, unwilling to meet my steady gaze. It felt strange to behave so motherly. I knew since my own mother's death, I had taken up the tasks she once completed with such enthusiasm. They only seemed chores to me, deadweight I was obliged to carry. Caring for this girl, whose name I did not know, was almost second nature for me. As if it was my mother's delicate hands that guided my fingers with such gentle ease.

"Natalie?" came a masculine voice from outside the hall. A moment later, there stood a handsome young man, with dirty blonde hair and warm brown eyes. His form filled the entire doorway, and it would have felt overpowering had he not such a comforting air around him.

"Is that him?" I whispered so that only the girl beside me could hear. She shook her head once to signify no, and hastily stood up. She teetered slightly once she'd reached her full height, and I steadied her with a firm grasp on her forearm.

"It's his best friend," she mumbled back to me. Her words were loud enough that the guy likely heard. He, however, gave no sign of recognition.

"Are you okay?" he asked. It appeared he was racking his brain for things to say. "I-uh-heard about Danny," he added nervously.

"Oh, so gossip is spreading already. After only thirty minutes?" Natalie gave a short, bitter laugh.

"So you two are…over?" the guy at the door asked, his hopeful tone obvious.

Natalie rolled her eyes. "Yes, definitely." She brushed past me, and headed towards the guy. "Will you take me home?" she asked sweetly, and I was struck with how quickly her persona had altered.

"Sure," the guy responded, his voice now deflated.

Natalie did a double take at the sound, clearly picking up on the hurt in his voice. This guy sure laid his feelings out in the open. I'd never seen someone so distinct with how they felt. "Thanks," she whispered, the coyness about her having evaporated as quickly as it had come. She reached for his hand and entwined her fingers. Peering her head over her shoulder, she gave me a grateful look before walking away.

I stood there, numb, for a moment. It was peculiar how interconnected I felt with that girl, Natalie, though I had only just met her. Shrugging the entire thing off, I shut the door firmly, and made my way towards the toilet. Finally.

A little bit later, I was washing my hands and giving my reflection the once over. I played with a lose curl by my temple, pulling it out and watching it spring back to shape.

The door creaked as I exited the bathroom. I left the light on to illuminate the upstairs. My heart gave a small leap to see a slim figure resting tiredly against the wall across from me. Upon further inspection I realized that it was Santana. This discovery only led to the quickening of my heart's beat.

"Brittany," she said, almost as if in wonderment. I could tell immediately that she had had too much to drink. Her words sounded heavy.

"Santana," I replied because I didn't know what to say.

"Come here," she ordered, her tone already desperate. It befuddled me, so I obeyed. "I want to show you something," she continued, once I had reached her. She stood a little too close for comfort, although no distance was really suitable for me anymore. Just the thought of her exhilarated me.

She took my hand, and I blindly followed her. Her palm was soft and fitted perfectly in mine. Santana opened a door that led to a bedroom. A double bed sat in the middle of the room, covered in a floral quilt. There was a small antique dresser on the opposite wall above, which hung a large mirror. A nightstand sat on the left side of the bed, decorated by a vase of fake daffodils and daisies. Reflecting upon this moment later, I have no idea how I was able to take in such significant details of the room, like the sponge painting on one wall, or the lace curtains adorning the only window. Moonlight reflected through the glass and across the floor. I do not know how I could have taken such things in, because Santana stood not one foot behind me, breathing softly on my neck. The delicate hairs there twittered in the gentle breeze.

"What was it you wanted to show me?" I asked quietly.

Santana turned me around and gazed at me, the stare would have been intense, had there not been a glazed over look across her pupils. "You're so beautiful."

I flinched away at her remark, out of surprise and the uncomfortable reminder of alcohol on her breath. It made the situation unreal. "Why did you say that?" I asked, my back turned to her and set in an angry stance. She placed a hand on my elbow, which I shook off. "Don't," I said weakly.

"Brittany...Britt Britt," she cooed a second time. The sound of my nickname off her lips sent a shiver down my spine. Absent fingers played with the wisps of hair at the nape of my neck. "_Please_."

I had no idea as to what she was begging for. I turned around and faced her, and somehow this silent movement was acquiescence to an unspoken plea. One moment I was standing too close to Santana, my brows furrowed, and the next my entire body was ridged, with a foreign feeling upon my mouth. The feeling of Santana's kiss.

She pushed me onto the bed, and I felt her entire form covering me like a lumbering blanket. I could taste the alcohol on her lips, and my stomach gave a protest of disgust. I was, however, helpless to stop the waves of emotion that crashed over me. It was overwhelming, to have her hands straying up my sides, and her knee resting between my legs. I squirmed beneath her body, in a futile attempt to save myself from drowning in everything. Her mouth was hot and soft, and her kisses were strong enough to bruise my long time neglected lips. Her tongue snuck into my mouth as I gasped for breath, and the taste of alcohol only became more prevalent. It seemed to snap me back into reality, and I placed my palms square on her chest. Their force was not strong enough to even budge the form on top of me.

Suddenly Santana jumped back, as if she was nearly struck by lightning. Her once glazed eyes now appeared vivid in the pale light, very similar to the eeriness of a peeking moon during a densely clouded night. Clouds of intoxication. Her dark eyes spoke depths, and had never revealed so much to me as they did in that moment of brief confusion. I saw weariness, and lust, torture and adamancy in keeping old things in the past. They flickered over to me, almost as if just noticing my presence.

The moonlight caught a faint pink to her cheeks, flushed from either embarrassment or previous actions. The glowing redness I was sure painted my own, led me to believe the latter was responsible for his coloring. Thinking of what had just occurred, I licked my lips once. Even the taste of alcohol was sweet to me, knowing it had come from her.

"Santana," I stuttered out, amazed at my ability to form any words at all. She got up at the sound of her name and began walking towards the door. She refused to look at me, and I sensed an air of guilt swirl around her. "Santana," I repeated, but she did not turn my way. Instead she hesitated a moment at the doorway, before walking away, ignoring the weak sounds of her name from my mouth.

I sat there, on the quilted bed, thinking of how ruined everything was now. I had waited for the moment of her love for a long time. I was still waiting, in fact. But I had always considered a kiss to lead directly in that path, a return of her affections. Now it had only led to more confusion between us.

As I walked downstairs, I saw that the partygoers had thinned out in the slightest bit. Santana stood next to Shay, her face looking serious. Shay was shaking his head and mumbling back to his friend. Beth stood several feet away, not making any attempt to appear affectionate towards Shay. Something had happened between them; I knew it immediately. Hurrying the last few steps, I went over to my friend and hugged her. She smiled faintly at me, and the attempt was pathetic.

"Can we go home now?" I asked, knowing that our partying mood was entirely over.

Shay nodded once, and we followed him to the door. Quinn appeared in that moment to give us all a spirited goodbye. She hugged me, and thanked me wholeheartedly for coming. I attempted to reciprocate the gesture, but I was too worn out to behave genuinely. I noted that she did not embrace Santana as she had me, and it surprised me that she would pass up such an opportunity.

We walked down the gravelled pathway, and my feet began to ache, reflecting my sentiments exactly. When we were buckled in the jeep, I leaned over to Beth and stated, "We need to talk later." She nodded distractedly and shifted her back towards me. Something had gone very wrong indeed.

The entire way home was muted, but it was better like that. Small talk always made me more uncomfortable than any silence ever did.

Beth was dropped off first. Santana got out of the car to walk her to the door, and suddenly the quietude between Shay and me was nearly unbearable. I felt like opening the window and screaming with agony so that the world might hear.

My house was next. When it came into sight, I jumped out of the vehicle before a complete stop was even made. Running up the steps and pulling out my key, I never once glanced back to see if Shay or Santana had gotten out of the jeep to escort me to the front. I didn't care. Or, at least, I didn't want to.

The stale air of my house that I had become accustomed to, assaulted me when I entered inside. The bubbling environment of Quinn's party, made my home seem all the more hollow. My peripheral vision noted a red light flashing, which I realized belonged to the answering machine. For a moment I wondered why my father had not answered the phone. I then remembered he was staying the night at Amelia and Mitch's place because the two needed some alone time. It was strange how all of the sudden my entire world was fraying. Maybe before my life had been boring, but it was preferable to the impending disasters around me.

Lazily I pushed the play on the answering machine. I had one new message. As it began, a voice alien to me, yet so familiar it made my blood run cold, spoke these words, "Hello Brittany. It's Marie, Santana's mom…"

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**Read, review & enjoy!**


	11. Let it all out

**So how amazing was the last episode of glee! Brittana has always been endgame and always will be (:**

**Thanks to all of you that reviewed, I hope this answers some of your questions and if it doesn't the next chapter defiantly will.**

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I quickly hit the stop button in the middle of Marie's message. I didn't need this in my life right now. So, without thinking twice, I purposely pushed delete and headed to my bedroom.

As far as I was concerned, she never called. People who desert the ones who love them do not deserve such an easy access back into their lives.

The weekend left me as confused as ever. Beth wasn't taking my calls and I was even turned away when I stopped by her house. I decided not to push her anymore since she dealt with her problems the same way that I did, in solitude. Things with Santana weren't any better either. That was mainly my fault because I was avoiding her. And yes, I could call it avoiding, considering she had gone so far as to call me sometime Saturday.

I had been sitting in my room, writing a thank you letter to my Grandmother who, in her aged state, sent me a Christmas card to wish me an early Happy Birthday. The card startled me, as I had entirely forgotten that in two weeks I would be seventeen years old. I practically already was. All the same, the age felt so young. Seventeen years old. I felt like a million.

The sound of the phone rang nearby, causing me to jump out of a state of pondering. I picked it up, irritation settling in my bones as I wondered if it might be a telemarketer interrupting my day. That irritation quickly froze as the name Lopez popped up on my caller ID. Lopez. Santana Lopez. It had to be her. Before I realized what I was doing, I threw the phone at my wall, almost as if it had scorched my skin. It hit with a shoulder-clenching thud and the battery fell out the back. Heedless to the mechanical damage I had just caused, I dove under my bedspread and buried my face in my pillow. Downstairs the torturous jingle continued to play. And that is when the tears came.

They sprang up unexpectedly and the moment I realized I was crying, the salty drops halted. Wiping the back of my hand across my nose, I sniffed; I coughed. I began to bawl again because I couldn't summon a single reason why not to.

No one was home. No one was there for me. Either I had pushed them away, or they had distanced themselves. It wasn't important how it happened. The fact was, I was alone and that meant there was no one to hide my pain from. I certainly couldn't conceal it from myself.

So I cried for the loss of my mother because alive, she had made life so simple. I would never get to experience teenage drama with her, nor see her face as I walked across the stage to get my high school diploma. She would never help me plan my wedding. She would never see her grandchildren grow up. I wept for my father too, whose soul was dead to me. And for my sister because she would never be happy in this life, no matter what the circumstances were. I cried for Beth because she was as lost as I was. I cried for her naiveté and the sorrow she would not let me understand.

My weeping gave way into howling and pitiful sobs as my self-misery turned in the direction of Santana. I pulled my knees to my chest in a fetal position, and I thought about how much I wanted her. The mere idea of not having her in my life was like fatal blows to my heart. Pounding fists. I cried because she had called me and I was too cowardly to answer. I cried because despite the pain, it was easier to think of our friendship being ruined than it was to believe that our kiss could have meant something.

I wept myself to sleep with that melancholy lullaby, and it was dark when I awoke a few hours later. My father was still not home because he had decided to go to his work office today and try to catch up on some fast approaching deadlines. Or, at least, that is what he told me. Mitch and Amelia were having him over for dinner, and were it not for my weary state, I would have joined them. I just wasn't in the mood for false happiness.

There was one component of the Friday night disaster that I was not too gutless to face. And that was Quinn. I had remembered suddenly, whilst going over the entire situation that she acted rather strangely towards Santana right before our group left. Strangely in that she had not hugged her. She hugged me, but not her. For a girl who claimed herself besotted, such a golden opportunity was wasteful to pass up.

So, picking up the phone with a jittering hand, I dialed the number scrawled across a magazine cover that would connect me to Quinn. A woman with a soft voice, who I presumed to be her mother, answered the phone. When I asked for Quinn, she inquired as to who was calling, and then called in a delicate tone for her daughter.

"Hey Brittany," Quinn greeted.

"Hey," I said and nothing more, despite the fact that it had been I who called.

After a short moment of silence, Quinn asked, "Was there something you wanted?"

I coughed uncomfortably and shifted once on my bed, bending my knee under me. "Yeah. There was…or is. I mean yes. I do have something I want to ask you or talk about." I mentally smacked myself for the ineloquence with which I spoke.

Quinn chuckled quietly. "So, what is it?"

"Actually…" I hesitated. "Do you think we could meet somewhere? A place to talk."

"Well, I do need to get some books for a history project if you want to meet at the public library. They have that little nook area upstairs for reading, but I'm sure it'd be okay to go talk up there too."

"Talk in the library," I playfully admonished. "That's preposterous!"

I could hear the smile in her voice as she responded, "So, will that work for you? We can meet around noon tomorrow?"

"Sounds great."

That was how I found myself pacing up and down the front steps of the library, as curious patrons passed me by. I noticed that as people walked by, they covered up the titles to the books they were reading, or crammed them under their arm. I let a soft laugh out at how private people wanted to keep their lives, and yet how nosey they were about others.

Eventually, one of the passing persons was Quinn carrying a backpack. She was serious about doing history homework. We headed inside and straight up the tiny set of stairs. Lucky for us, no one was up there.

"So I must admit, I'm a bit curious what it is you have to talk about and why we couldn't just talk about it over the phone," Quinn said with a big smile upon her face. An inquisitive look shone in her eyes. She placed an open palm on one cheek and rested her elbow on a worktable, her entire stance screaming anticipation.

"I don't want to get your hopes up on anything," I began rather dully. "This isn't some big revelation, or exciting piece of gossip. It's actually about you and not me. I noticed something Friday night and I can't help but be a bit perplexed by it. So if I'm overstepping my boundaries, just tell me so. Okay?"

She giggled lightly at my comment. "Brittany, you haven't even told me what this is all about yet and already you're backpedalling. Just tell me what is up, or rather ask away."

I licked my bottom lip in preparation and nodded once. "Okay. I guess I'll get this out there. What is up with you and Santana?"

I noted the way Quinn's nostrils flared at my question. "What do you mean?"

"I know you like her. You've been very open about that with me, and I'm glad. But with your honesty, comes an automatic curiosity in me about how things are going for you. You get what I mean?"

"Yeah, yeah," Quinn shook her head. "I'm always asking my girl friends how things are going with their crushes or boyfriends or whatever. What I don't get is why you suddenly feel things have changed for us. I mean, if Santana were my girlfriend I'd be stringing it on a banner behind a plane."

'Me too,' I thought wryly. Out loud, I said, "Well, on Friday, when we all said goodbye, you hugged me but not her. I would have figured you'd use such a casual chance to hug her. I don't know. It just seemed like the kind of thing to do…" my sentence trailed off as I began to second guess my conclusions about the entire situation.

Quinn bit her cheeks for a moment, seemingly pondering what to say. Finally she opened her mouth to speak. "You're right. It was a perfect opportunity to hug her, if I were still trying to have her as my girlfriend at that point."

I gaped at her, thrown off by her remark. "I don't understand. You just said you'd fly a banner across the sky if Santana was your girlfriend. Now you're telling me that you don't want to date her anymore…"

"No," Quinn was blunt. "I _did not say_ the words 'I don't want to date her anymore'. I said, 'if I were still trying to have her as my girlfriend', which I'm not."

"Why?" I asked straight out.

"Because I'm not," she replied stubbornly. She even pouted her lip in defiance.

I rolled my eyes. "_Quinn!_ Just tell me. Come on. Please?" She didn't even question why I wanted to know so badly. Inwardly I cringed at how obvious I was being. I sounded like more than a concerned friend. I sounded like competition. But there was no competition. Not anymore.

"You were there when I was first talking to Santana at my party. You guys had just gotten there, I think. Or I know, that is. I was keeping an eye out for her. She's so gorgeous," she added as a side note. It seemed entirely off the subject, and this annoyed me. "I was so excited when I saw her on my back patio. I was excited and nervous because it was the night that I was finally going to tell her how I felt. And I did. I told her right after you left. Nice exit by the way," she giggled at me.

"Thanks," I deadpanned. My tone suggested indifference, but my heart had picked up pace at the thought of Santana knowing Quinn's feelings. What would it be like, I wondered, for her to know mine? Would she laugh at me for my foolishness, or scoff in disgust? Or perhaps, would she smile and say she had liked me all along as well…

"I was direct and to the point. I heard she likes it when girls make the first move. So I put my hand on her forearm and told her that I had liked her for a while. And I asked her out to the movies."

An inaudible gasp escaped my mouth. I was glad Quinn was so far into her own recollection that she didn't notice the horrified look upon my face.

"She likes someone else. A different girl."

There was a sudden pounding in my ears, and a chilling rush of blood to my fingertips. The hairs on my arms stood on end. All in reaction to Quinn's statement. She likes someone else.

Not her.

"Do…" I took a deep breath. "Do you know who she is?" My question was hesitant.

Quinn raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. The glint in her eyes told me she had finally caught on. Suspicions confirmed. "No," she replied slowly.

My mouth formed the shape of 'Oh', but no sound was produced. I ran a shaky hand across the top of my head.

"You like her," Quinn stated. I glanced up to see if she was going to lash out at me for lying to her. "I guess I knew it all along," she continued. "I mean, you always stared at her like it might be the very last time you would see her. Like she might disappear if you blinked for too long. Plus, you had this obvious interest in anything her."

I took in a heavy breath. "Are you…"

"No," she interrupted my question. "I'm not mad at you. Why should I be? You basically backed down when I told you I liked her. That's actually really nice of you. I know I would have never allowed some other girl to try to take Santana from me. If I stood a chance, that is."

I don't know how I had it in me, but one way or another, a wry smile settled upon my lips. It was almost as if I had found the humor in this entire situation. "You're not what I expected," I replied honestly. What I really wanted to say was thanks, even though I had no idea why.

Quinn returned my look. "Neither are you."

We sat there just a moment, before bursting into laughter simply because we could. It was as if our bellowing smashed the awkwardness and swept it away.

"Ladies, this is a library. If you wish to carry on in such a manner, I'm going to have to ask you to please go outside," the intrusive voice of a librarian said. Quinn and I passed glances at each other, both biting our lips as we nodded meekly. The librarian bid us a final demeaning glare before hobbling down the stairs to the main floor of the library.

"There's something very liberating about getting in trouble, even if this instance had no repercussions," I said.

"Oh yeah. You're a regular old rebel now," Quinn replied dryly.

"What?" I shrugged my shoulders with mock offense. Quinn only shrugged her head like she found the entire situation to be very pathetic. "So this other girl," I offered up as a new conversation topic.

"The girl Santana likes, you mean?" she clarified.

"Yeah. Her. You have no idea who she is?" I smiled crookedly.

Quinn shook her head in the negative. "Not for certain, I don't. Basically, when I told Santana I liked her she just gave me this sincerely sorry look and told me she liked being my friend, but that she was interested in another girl. I was a little embarrassed, so I didn't bother her about who she was."

"Do you have any idea who she might be?" I was digging for answers at this point.

Fluttering her eyelashes quickly, as if in concentration, Quinn responded, "Do you mean if I think 'she' might be you?" I couldn't help the flustered smile that graced my already blushing cheeks at that point. "I suppose there's a chance. You guys haven't really been friends…again for that long. I haven't noticed her acting like she likes you or stuff like that. Then again, I wasn't _really_ looking for it. I have seen her around town a couple of times with this other girl though. I don't remember her name, but I think she's the daughter of a family friend. She lives about an hour outside of town. I _do _remember Santana telling me that when I asked about her."

I couldn't decide if the disappointment I felt was in response to the possibility of a new girl in my way, or the fact that Santana, in Quinn's opinion, hadn't acted particularly besotted with me. I was certain that she could read people better than me, considering she was _way_ more popular than me.

"You know, I really should get started on this history project," Quinn interjected.

"Oh, okay," I said. "Thanks for talking to me though. I'm not sure I feel any better, but at least some things make more sense to me."

Quinn laughed quietly. "Same here." I noted then, the despondent furrow in her brows. Santana's rejected, however gently done, had still hurt her. I wondered briefly, if she had cried over it.

Maybe that just wasn't her.

Leaving the library, I drove to the café-restaurant where I first learned about Shay's interest in Beth. My stomach had given an angry growl as I exited the library, and I realized I had not eaten anything all day. I was the sort of person who couldn't bear to eat whenever I was stressed.

Stepping inside, I noted the rather abandoned atmosphere. I supposed that late Sunday afternoon was not the highlight for a restaurant that maintained business off of its teenage customers. I ordered a blueberry muffin and Strawberries and cream frappuccino. Sitting at a high-top table, swinging back and forth on my swivel chair, and reading a magazine some girl had likely left behind, I did not notice the faint jingle of bells sounding the entrance of someone new. It wasn't like I was expecting someone I knew to come in.

I was in the middle of taking a quiz on what type of style was best suited for my personality, when a voice spoke into my ear, "You don't strike me as the type of girl who would fall between the lines of a teen magazine."

I whipped my head around in surprise, to come face to face with, of all people, Shay. Slightly startled, I felt my bottom nearly slip off my chair. Ungraceful shifting noises sounded, as I scooted back into place. "What are you doing here?" I questioned him, because, at the moment, it was exactly what I was wondering.

"Getting a mocha?" he offered, while swishing his drink back and forth.

"Oh," I stated, just to secure the fact that I was intelligent.

"Yeah." His tone spoke his obvious discomfort. I hated awkward silences. The quietude wore on with Shay shifting on his feet and me tapping the table with my fingers. I was about to give a quick excuse to leave, but he halted me from making up any white lies when he said, "Brittany, can you do something for me?"

I raised my eyebrows and nodded, mumbling, "What?"

He elicited a heavy, shuddering sigh and dug his fingers into his scalp in a harsh scratching motion. I winced just watching him. "Can you tell Beth something for me?"

I agreed to carry on whatever message he had, though my brain was screaming to demand why he couldn't tell her himself. What had happened? Why wouldn't anyone tell me? Why were things getting so out of control?

"Could you tell her that I'm sorry?" He paused. "I know that sounds weak, but I do mean it. I'm just…sorry. She's a great girl."

"I know," I replied confidently, though my tone bespoke my curiosity.

"I wasn't ready," he continued, though it hardly clarified anything. "I'm not…Just tell her I'm sorry, okay?" With that, he grabbed his coffee, which he had earlier placed on the tiny round table, and left the shop. His presence lingered in the air, but Shay was always the sort of person who left a mark. You didn't forget him the way you could forget me.

Sitting in my seat only a moment longer, I decided I'd had enough of this useless wondering. Grabbing my keys and heading to my car, I drove, with determination, to Beth's house. She wouldn't hide from me anymore. I was her best friend, and it was my duty as such to make sure she didn't wither away into whatever sorrow her situation with Shay had brought on. And if I found he had broken her heart, no sorry in the world could prevent me from beating him down, or at the very least, trying to.

I banged on Beth's front door, knowing that her mother wasn't around. My suspicions were correct when nobody answered. Beth could attempt to ignore the world all she wanted, and I suppose being soppy about something for two days wasn't unrealistic, but I could not accept her alienation of me. And the problem with keeping best friends away is that often best friends know where the hidden house key is. Grabbing the small, tarnished item, I inserted it into the lock and felt a tiny bubble of triumph rising up inside me at the gentle clicking noise that sounded.

Walking inside, only to be met with the warming smell of cookies, I headed up the stairs taking two at a time. "_Beth!_" I called shrilly. A lump in the middle of her bed shot up. My friend, with messy hair and sleep marks, looked horrible. "Beth," I repeated, though this time my tone held sympathy.

"Go away," she mumbled, cuddling back into bed.

"No," I responded, walking over to her bed. I grabbed her sheets, threw them back and pulled on her arm to wake her up. "I'm going to bother you until you tell me what happened or we both go gray from old age."

"I don't want to talk about it," she replied sadly. Her eyes looked sorrowful. We sat there for several minutes, as I held to my promise of waiting until she opened up to me.

"I saw Shay today," I finally said. Beth did not respond in any way, unless you counted her face becoming more melancholy. "He told me to tell you something."

"I don't want to hear it." Her demeanour was so cold; I felt a shudder run down my spine.

I whispered quietly back, "Why?"

She didn't give me a coherent response, but I was pretty sure I made out the word 'broken'.

"Beth," I begged. "Please just tell me. Don't hide from me; I need you to tell me."

My beseeching seemed to melt away her wariness. "I said the words. I told him," she attempted at explaining.

"What words?" I aided in clarification.

She raised her head slowly in my direction. Her mouth was set in a taunt line. "I love you." My mouth dropped at finding out what had caused this all. She had told Shay that she loved him. I could only guess that his response to such a confession was not good.

"And then what?" I said, my voice almost nonexistent.

"He…changed," Beth tried her best to describe. "Like he froze on me or something. He kept shaking his head, wishing me away. He said it was too fast, too serious. I guess he broke up with me because he wanted…I don't know what he wanted. Not me."

"Oh honey," I soothed, grabbing her shoulders and then sliding my arms around her in a tight hug. "That's horrible." I felt tears pricking my eyes because I knew Beth had experienced the worst kind of rejection. The kind that was packaged in bright paper and welcoming bows. The kind that tricked you into thinking such a delightful sight had to lead to a wonderful gift. But peeling away the layers only led to the sucker punch inside. "Did he actually say he wanted to break up?"

Beth waited a moment, as if recollecting the painful event. "No, but it was implied."

"How do you know that?" I said, clinging to a newfound hope.

"Come on Brittany, he told me it was too fast and too serious. It wouldn't matter if I did come crawling back, begging to return things to the way they were. He'd still know that I was in love with him. It'd make things awkward, and he'd break up with me for sure then. I don't want to drag out the situation. We're over."

"Do you…do you want to know what he said to me?" I asked hesitantly.

"Sure," Beth said noncommittally.

"He said that he was sorry. He repeated the same too soon thing. That he wasn't ready, but he thinks you're a great girl." Suddenly my words from him to her sounded feeble and pointless and…empty.

"Wonder how long it took him to come up with that," Beth mentioned dryly. I let out a breathy laugh. My shoulders shook once.

"I was just thinking the same thing," I divulged. "I guess it seemed like a better thing to say when it was coming from him. Like you had to be there to get the full effect."

Beth raised a wry eyebrow at me and burst into laughter. I joined her because of the spontaneity of her actions. It was the last thing I had expected to do her, but I was pleasantly thrown off. "Britt, you're just about the greatest person out there," she conceded.

"Oh dude, you give me too much credit," I teased back in a mock humble tone.

Impulsively Beth threw her arms around me, pressing the side of her cheek into mine. "Thank you so much," she breathed. "Thank you."

As we held the hug, I felt an increased sense of skepticism settle over me. Beth had told Shay her deepest of deep feelings, and he chose to turn away. Now there was no way I could ever confess to Santana what I felt. What if she reacted the same way? Or worse, what if she laughed in my face? I couldn't take that. I wouldn't. Letting Beth go, I quietly said my goodbyes.

As I settled myself in my car, I took a few minutes to just think. These last few days I had been in a perpetual state of hysteria. Mental hysteria, that is. I needed time to contemplate.

I didn't want the situation with Santana and me to ruin our budding friendship. I wouldn't be naïve and believe that things could be the same. We'd definitely have to overcome some awkwardness. But smoothing things out between us didn't mean that I had to admit that I loved her. It wouldn't be abnormal for a friend to try and salvage a relationship with another. Processing this reasoning, I decided that I needed to talk to Santana. I needed her in my life.

So started the car with a familiar rumble, I pulled out of Beth's driveway and turned in the direction of Santana's house.

New worries poured through my mind as I drove slowly to her house. Did she want to talk to me? Did she even remember the kiss? Did she regret it? Did she plan on apologizing to me? Would she be surprised to see me? Would it be the good kind of surprise? Did I look okay?

There were no answers for a girl who would not listen.

I parked by the curb in front of her house, and gave myself a five second pep talk before opening my car to greet the foreboding air. I could already see the horrible rejection playing through my mind. It involved lots of blood and tears.

The doorbell gave a short buzz, and I shifted impatiently for someone to answer. The heavy thudding, characteristic to the grace of a child, sounded inside. I was sure it would be Mia who answered. Sure enough, when the door opened it revealed the partially hidden face of Santana's stepsister. Upon seeing me she smiled brightly and squealed, "_Brittany!_" She threw the door open the rest of the way, heedless to the heavy bang it gave as it collided with the wall and wrapped her arms around my legs. "I'm so glad to see you!"

I laughed lightly and felt my heart warming for the girl. "I'm happy to see you too. How have you been?"

"Okay," she responded, her smile still beaming towards me. I could not describe the joy that swirled in my stomach to find someone so thrilled to see me. It was wondrous. "How come you never come over?" she asked me in a whining voice.

I giggled once again. "I've been busy." My hand roamed over her wispy hairs. They stuck up slightly from the grooming.

"Too busy to come visit me?" she pouted.

"Sorry," I said meekly, though my face held a grin. "Is Santana around?"

"Oh, you want to see your girlfriend!" she chirped merrily. My hand automatically slapped over her mouth.

"Shhh…" I hushed insistently. "Don't say that." Mia licked my hand, and I recoiled. "Ewww!"

"I know you _like her!_" she yelled loudly. She began to dance around taunting me. It was wrong of me to react like a little schoolgirl, demanding that she shut up. It only served to egg her on more. "Stop acting so worried," Mia finally stated. "She's not here."

My heart dropped and I stuttered, "Wha-what?"

"She's. Not. Here."

I darted my head around to look in the driveway, and sure enough, Santana's black truck was gone. I wondered why I had not noticed this fact before. "Will she be back soon?" I questioned, my urgency to speak with her only growing.

With a clueless shrug, Mia said, "Don't know."

"Where did she go?"

She placed a pondering finger over her mouth and responded, "She went to go see a friend."

"Who?"

"I don't know!" She stamped her foot in frustration. "Stop asking me so many questions."

Gritting my teeth together, I said, "Okay. Well, I guess I should be going. School is tomorrow and I still have homework." My excuse sounded forced. Mia nodded.

"She seemed in a big hurry," she added, as I turned to leave. I took a couple of steps before she finished her comment with, "I think whoever she went to see is really important to her."

And in my dreams, there was Santana, waiting on my porch steps for me.

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**Hope you liked it. New update soonish ;)**


	12. Fate

**Hey guys! Sorry for not updating yesterday, I had a super hectic day. Better late than never hey? **

**Sorry for keeping you hanging, thank you all for the reviews and all my new favourites and follows. To the reviewer that suggested I tagged the story with OC's as well, I thought I had already done that but obv not lol. It's all done now so thanks for reminding me.**

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Going to school on a Monday was becoming a very difficult task for me. I felt like every weekend brought a new pivotal point in my life, and Mondays were that unwanted reality slap. It didn't matter what kind of drama was happening in your life, Spanish quizzes and essays for English were still waiting for you. However, this Monday was quite different from any other Monday I had experienced before because now I was a girl who had been kissed by Santana. I didn't feel any different, but I suppose that's because anxiety had already become my constant companion.

Beth and I strategically avoided Shay and Santana successfully throughout the day. That was, until the final bell rang. I headed towards my locker, where Beth was already collecting her things, and exchanged my own books and binders for the ones necessary to do my homework.

"Hey Britt," Beth greeted me with utterly fake enthusiasm. Any happiness on her part had to be fake. The empty look in her eyes was a dead giveaway.

"Howdy," I responded absently, and then asked, "Any run-ins?"

With a half grimace, Beth said, "No. _Luckily_."

"Yeah, me either."

"Huh?" Beth asked confused, a little wrinkle knit on her brow. "You didn't have any run-ins with Shay…_or with Santana?_"

"Um…" I mumbled hesitantly. A temporary brain lapse caused me to forget that I hadn't actually told Beth about what happened at the party. "Yeah?"

With a pointed look, and quick tapping motions of her heel, Beth said, "Which one Brittany?"

I frowned quickly, and then my attention was diverted by something else. Or should I say someone. "Look, can we talk about this later?" I asked impatiently, with a directing glance towards the invader of my sanity.

Beth whipped her head around quickly, and nearly freaked out. "Yes, later," she screeched, grabbing my hand and pulling me along. I couldn't stop myself from sending one final look towards Santana. A startled spark jumped up my spine when my eyes met her. I was absolutely thrilled that she was gazing at me. Her mouth was set in a grim line; her stance defeated. I half expected her to pull a white flag from her pocket and wave it listlessly at me. Beside her, Shay stood with a similar air, only he was looking at Beth. I realized how upset he was over their break up, but I couldn't feel sorry for him when he was the one who ended it.

Suddenly I lurched forward, almost falling on my face. "Brittany, come _on_," Beth begged. "Stop staring at them!"

"Sorry," I grumbled, picking up my pace to match hers. Needless to say, I was close to running.

As we settled into her car, Beth turned towards me and asked "So what's with you and Santana?" I didn't respond to her, instead pretending to be frustrated with my seatbelt buckle. "_Britt_," she repeated.

I looked up at her. "What?" My tone bespoke annoyance. "The stupid child-lock is on. I can't get it to click." Letting the seatbelt snap back, I tugged at it again.

"Don't man-handle it and then maybe it'll work for you," she teased, though I knew she hadn't forgotten her original question. "So are you going to tell me what's up, or am I the only one in this relationship who's not allowed to have secrets?"

"Beth," I breathed. "I don't know what to say. Me and her—we're…"

"What happened?" she asked.

I bent my head away from her, not able to handle her penetrating stare. "She kissed me," I whispered.

"Really?" Beth said with excitement. "Was it nice?"

"_Beth_!" I admonished. "How can you ask me that? I don't know if it was nice; she was drunk. It wasn't real."

"Wasn't real?" she scoffed and hit her left hand on the steering wheel. "Did it happen? Did you feel it happen? Then of course it was real. So what if she was…intoxicated" she rolled her eyes at me.

I rolled my eyes right back at her. "It didn't mean anything at all."

"How do you know that? Maybe she kissed you because it was something that she had wanted to do for a long time."

"Oh and alcohol was her excuse?" I said dryly.

"Yeah," Beth enthused. "Yes."

"I don't think so…"

"You're only saying that because you don't want to believe that she likes you. It would be just too easy if she did. Besides, if that kiss didn't mean anything at all, then you two wouldn't be acting like you are now. She would be sitting with you at lunch, and you'd be fawning over her as usual."

"So you're saying that I like the drama of unrequited love?" I snapped. My gaze narrowed dangerously on Beth.

"Maybe," she replied hesitantly. "Britt, you've built up this impossible image of Santana. That she's the greatest person ever. That she's unattainable, and you're doomed to forever long for her. Well guess what? The fact that your friendship ended isn't entirely your fault, okay? Telling someone to never talk to you again doesn't ruin a friendship. How many times have I told you to go away, to leave me alone? Are we over? No. We're not because we try. We keep our friendship going. Santana let what you guys had die, just as much as you did. She's not perfect. She's not a god. She's not any better than you are." Beth finished her passionate speech in a quiet voice.

I was silenced. I had no idea what to say back to that. She thought I had made an unrealistic image of Santana. "Whatever," I mumbled bitterly. It felt as if a wire in my brain had snapped. Connections and all that stuff were messed up.

As we pulled up in front of my house, Beth shut off her engine and grabbed my hand gently. "Think about what I said, okay?"

I shrugged my shoulders. As I stepped out of the car, I poked my head back inside and said, "Strong advice. Just don't preach it." Beth looked befuddled by my comment. I wasn't even sure I understood it myself.

Ambling inside, I headed into the kitchen. I opened random cabinets searching for something to appease an impossible hungriness that gurgled deep in my stomach. Starving, I thought. I'm starving. Crackers, fruit, chips, ice cream, and juice, nothing sounded satisfying to me. Sifting through the food in one particular cabinet, I was suddenly hit with a revelation. Of course I couldn't find anything to eat.

_Of course_.

It wasn't a physical hunger that needed alleviation. I was hungry for love, for Santana. Half-deciding to melt into a blubbering mess on the floor, I teetered slightly, banging my hip harshly into the counter.

"Dammit!" I screamed with frustration. It was a loud, muddled sound that held no real distinction. I felt blue.

A knock on the front door distracted me from my temporary, permanent pain. I wandered curiously forward, wondering if it was, perhaps, Beth at the door. She usually just walked right in, though, if she knew my father wasn't home. It saved me the trip.

"Hel…" I began cordially, but words dropped from my mouth, floating somewhere far, far away. That left my caller to be greeted with what appeared to be a startled curse.

"Hello Brittany," Marie said, as if just yesterday we had scheduled a meeting. "How are you?"

My hand twitched to slap her. "Fine," I mumbled, because answering her was easier than spitting out words of disdain.

"Brittany," she tried again, pitifully. "Can we please talk? Somewhere neutral. Coffee sound good?"

With you, no, I thought.

"Please?" Marie added, as if sugar-coating her words would convince me to go with her, like flies to the sweet, coppery taste of blood.

"Okay," I agreed for the sake of curiosity. Why was Santana's mom back? What compelled a woman who abandoned her family without a second glace to fight for another chance? Was she demented enough to think she _deserved _one?

I grabbed my purse from inside, and then joined her in her rental car. "Did you fly here?" I asked her because I didn't like the contemplative silence that blanketed us.

She glanced sideways at me briefly, and I itched to scream at her to watch the road. I didn't care what kind of reprimand I gave, as long as it involved shrieking and the tearing of flesh, and horrible, horrible words. "Yes," she replied calmly. "I took an extended leave from my work to do a bit of travelling."

"And that travelling led you here, of all places? May I ask what drew you to this humble town?" My questions were bitter, the sourness reaching my mouth and causing me to scrunch my nose in distaste.

"Yes," was all she said. Her long dark bangs fell into her eyes, and she shook them away with a quick jerk of her head. We settled back into quietude, and I shifted my back towards her in juvenile defiance. Stupid woman. Stupid, dumb, idiotic woman. We pulled into the parking lot of a bagel shop that was popular with middle-aged, gossiping women. "This okay?" Marie asked rhetorically. If I said back, "no," she would still walk straight through the entrance doors anyways. I opted not to respond.

I ordered only water and chose a booth, picking one that faced a day-care across the street. Behind a plastic fence, little children tossed a ball around, their faces lit up in delight. My feet cried out to join them, though I was not quite sure how the day-care providers would feel about some frazzled, nearly seventeen-year-old girl asking to play ball with the toddlers. Parents were weird when it came to their kids, obsessively overprotective.

What did it matter anyways? I had my own caged environment to deal with.

"How are things for you?" Marie asked with genuine interest, as she settled down across from me.

Well, after you abandoned your poor husband and child, my mother got cancer and died. My selfish sister married her high school sweetheart and had a baby, both of which she blames for her unhappiness. My father is collapsing within himself, while I stand helplessly by. Your daughter and I broke apart, and I'm hopelessly in love with her. My best friend had her affections rejected by the most perfect of boys for her. And you're here, ruining the disordered rhythm of my life with your meaningless small talk. I thought this all, but I remained silent, simply blinking emptily at Marie.

"How are things for you?" I finally cooed back, though the words felt like the crack of a whip because Marie flinched.

"I know I messed up Brittany," she explained impatiently, as if she was tired of all the reproof she was receiving, as if I wasn't allowed my fair share of punishing her.

"Yeah, you did," I said back.

"I'm trying."

"Well don't!" I shrieked, standing up. "Don't, don't, don't! Go away!" With that, I raced outside, heading towards the daycare. I didn't care if the cops came and dragged me away; I was going to play that game of ball. I was going to regress so far back that things were okay, and I was okay, and we were okay, me and Santana.

"Brittany!" I felt a harsh grasp swing me around. "Brittany, I just want to talk to you. You don't have to promise me anything," Marie begged. I wondered if I asked her to get down on her knees, if she would. Kiss the filthy ground; you're trash.

"I wouldn't promise you a punch in the face," I thrashed back, wrenching my arm out of her touch. Rubbing the now sensitive area, I glared back at her. "We can talk. Let's talk. How about the good times? You know, back when you were a decent person."

She was being patient with me. So incredibly patient. I saw in her eyes how my words tore her apart. But I didn't feel empowered by this. Revenge wasn't sweet. It was cruel, and hideous. It ripped me apart just as much as it did her. She lifted a hand to rub my back, the classic motherly touch, but dropped it back down with defeat. I was reminded of earlier when Santana had acted similarly. She did look quite a deal like her mother with the same hair color, eye shape and color. They had the same lip shape.

"I'm not a horrible person," she whispered, a tear trickling down her cheek. She wiped it away and sniffed in a get-yourself-together sort of way.

"Why did you leave her?" I said.

Marie looked directly in my eyes. "I didn't want that life. I never wanted to be married, or have children. I was just so in love with Santana's father that I did anything to keep him. I forgot who I was for him. It was all right at first, fast-paced. I was just adjusting to marriage, then pregnancy, and then raising a small child. But things changed; they slowed down. Santana didn't grow as fast. She didn't need me as much. My marriage didn't involve the romantic love I thrived off of as a young woman. Suddenly being a mother and a wife wasn't enough for me anymore. I didn't want it. Brittany, I had to live. I was dying there." She spoke with such sorrow, as if she were beseeching me to empathize with her.

"She still needed you! You left your own daughter! She was only thirteen!" I wouldn't bend to her. I wouldn't understand her point of view. It wasn't acceptable. "You can't just drop one life for another. People depend upon you. They love you." Now I was begging, demanding that she see my side of things.

"I know," she mumbled back.

"Five years!" I added, my voice rose in pitch. "Five years later you think you can come back with an apology? What are you doing here?"

"What are you talking about?" Marie questioned with befuddlement. "I've tried to keep in constant contact with Santana for the last two years. I'm here because I'm tired of her not allowing me to talk to her. She's my daughter, no matter how horrible of a mother I've been. I want to be part of her life again."

Take a number, I wanted to say. "She has a right to reject you, you know. You chose to leave; she gets to choose if you can come back. It's only fair."

She nodded, her hair blowing gently in the wind. "I hoped that if I were here, face-to-face, it might be easier to convince her." Suddenly, sympathy seized me. I tried to fight it off because I didn't want to feel sorry for this awful woman who had no concern for anyone but herself. But I could tell that was not really her. After all, I rejected Santana much like she did. My way was just less forceful than hers. Did I deserve another chance? Beth thought so. She thought that Santana was equally to blame. Was that true too, in the case of her mother? Was she at fault for her leaving? I felt dizzy.

"Lets go back inside; it's chilly out here," Marie said. I agreed because I couldn't think at all. I couldn't formulate coherent sentences.

"When your mother died, I wanted to come to the funeral," she said to me some time later. We were talking about random things, old memories, what we've been up to. I felt like I was directed by a puppeteer, because independent Brittany would never allow this to happen.

"Why didn't you?" I replied frankly. I could see that she wanted to tell me.

"I couldn't handle the scorn I'd receive if I did. She was my best friend, Brittany. A part of me died with her." Her emptiness was just another piece to the dark puzzle left with my mother's death. How many different pieces from different people could one person take? A chunk from him, one from her. Let's put them together and form one giant picture of nothing. You're not allowed to see what isn't there anymore.

"And why is it, that you can face the scorn now?"

"I'm comfortable with who I am now. You have to understand that I don't regret who I've become, just the way that I got there. No matter what, I would've left my family one way or another."

I breathed in a feeling of hate once again. It was linked to the oxygen that distributed through my blood until animosity flowed to the very tips of my toes and fingers.

"You're selfish," I told her.

"We all are," she replied. We began a glaring contest. Even when my eyes started to burn, I refused to blink. Finally, Marie ended it.

"Want to know a secret?" She smiled.

"Whatever," I said back, which was as much as I was willing to give.

"Your mother and I used to daydream about you and Santana marrying one day. It was a perfect situation with her being only a year older than you and your mother and I being such close friends. That was when she thought she was going to have a boy."

"Huh?" I mumbled back, confused by what she meant.

"Well, when your mother was pregnant with you she thought you were going to be a boy. She came to the conclusion she was having a boy because" she used her fingers to make air quotations "Boy's are nothing but trouble" she chuckled then continued "and she was having really bad trouble with her back in the early stages of her pregnancy".

"So what happened when she found out I wasn't a boy?" I asked, unable to hide the eagerness in my voice.

"When your mother found out she was going to have a little girl, she was thrilled. She even said to me that you and Santana could still even end up falling in love someday. She said that she'd just have to tamper with fate a little bit to ensure that you two ended up with one another." Marie laughed lightly here, at the memory. "She came to me one day, overly excited and six months pregnant. 'Marie! Marie!' she said. 'I've found the perfect name for my little angel.' She had been going through baby books trying to find a name for you for a while. I asked her the name she had chosen, and she replied, 'Brittany.' She had this huge smile on her face and no one was going to wipe it away."

"So you destined us for each other, me and Santana?" At this point, I was grinning. I enjoyed the idea of Santana and I being made for one another, like a heavenly coupling.

"Are you two still friends?" she asked me, elated by my happiness.

I felt myself being pitched downwards, back towards reality. Were Santana and I still friends? "Yeah," I told her cautiously. "We are."

"Good," she stated. "No, wonderful."

It amazed me how my conversation with Marie had made me feel happier than I had in a very long time. It was the kind of happiness that felt permanent. The kind that promised better times and resolution. I only feared that it was beguiling. That its seemingly long-lasting aspect would crack under all my toils and leave me stranded once again.

I knew that it was up to Santana to decide if she wanted her mother to play a role in her life again, but I was going to put my two cents down in her favor. She didn't need to be her maternal figure. I think she was rather close to her step-mom, and she was doing an all right job with Santana, but Marie needed her place too. Rational thought told me otherwise, but it was this deep, strong feeling in my bones that fought for her side. Take her back, it screamed.

Take me back.

/

Settling on my bed, I dialled Santana's number with the downstairs phone, mine having yet to be replaced. It rang once, twice, three times before a quiet voice greeted me.

"Hey, is Santana there?" My voice cracked. I coughed and repeated my question.

"She sure is, just a moment."

The faint calling of Santana whispered in my ear, and a moment later her beautiful voice said, "Hello?"

"Hi San. It's Brittany."

"Oh-uh-hey…" she drew out nervously. I could almost see the way she wrung his fingers around one another. "What's up?"

"Well," I began. "I just wanted to see how things are between us, after…you know."

"Yeah," she agreed deeply. "I don't know how things…are."

"Same here, but I want them to be okay. I like having you as a friend, and I wouldn't want something like an accidental kiss," I coughed the word out, "mess things up for us."

"Do you want to forget it-um, uh happened?" Her question was hesitant, as if it were only too cliché to suggest such a thing.

"Forget it? No," I responded before I had time to actually process what it was she asked.

"You don't?" she questioned again like somewhere along the line the transmission went faulty.

"What I mean," I started, while twirling my hair around my fingers, "is that I don't think I could forget it. It, you know, happened. We can't wish it out of existence, but we don't have to bring it up and-uh-talk about it either." It was funny how our kiss had suddenly become 'it', an unidentifiable term that was neither suggestive nor accusing.

"Oh," she said, deflated. "Sure. That sounds good."

Our conversation was clearly dying. "Okay, that was all I wanted to talk about. There wasn't anything that you needed to tell me was there?" I added, hinting towards her mother's return. I could understand her never bringing her up when she was just calling her, but now that she was back in town, I felt like she owed it to me to tell me about her.

"No," she replied lightly. Her voice held no sign of secretiveness.

"All right," I said slowly. "If you're sure."

After a moment's pause, Santana said, "Is there something specifically that you wanted me to tell you?" She seemed confused rather than calculating. Perhaps her mother hadn't told her yet of her arrival, although she had mentioned to me at one point that she'd been in town for about a week. A week without contacting Santana? Highly unlikely.

"No, not at all. Have a lovely evening." My tone was polite, but distant.

"Okay, Britt-Britt. You too."

I hung up the phone lightly, the sound of my nickname reverberating in my head.

Flopping back on my bed, I recalled my afternoon with Marie.

Suddenly the puzzle my mother had left with her passing didn't seem so complicated. I realized that I wasn't actually a piece of that anymore. I was something much simpler, easy. One-half that needn't be completed in darkness and sorrow, for my other half was clear, it was Santana. Two halves destined to be one.

S.L and B.P 4-ever. But it was better than stone or bark, and that's because it was fate.

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**Well there you have it, Hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you all think.**


	13. Second chances

**Surprise update! **

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"I'll be spending the evening with Mitch and Amelia," my father announced with his eyes set on the front door. I wished he would look at me when he spoke. I snuggled deeper into the couch, unnecessarily hiding and not responding. It was like I was pretending that the reason he didn't talk to me was because he couldn't see me. And I guess he couldn't. Not _really_.

He stood there waiting, so I mumbled, "okay," out of respect.

"They're hosting a dinner with some of Mitch's work colleagues, and I was invited," he informed me, as if I might doubt his reasons for leaving once again.

"Right," I responded mindlessly, already zoned back into the television rerun I was watching.

He didn't say good-bye as he opened the door to the garage; he just left. When he was gone, I felt at ease once more. I should have been doing homework, but it didn't take much for me to become utterly disinterested in all things pertaining to school. Watching night time television was easier, despite the fact that _drama _was an addition to my life that I had no need for.

The phone started to ring, and my brain screamed, "Hallelujah!" The telemarketer calling was in for a real treat tonight because I was bored enough that useless services and products sounded like little perfect pieces of heaven.

"Hello," I answered with an unhidden eagerness in my voice.

"Britt," I heard back and realized it was Beth.

"What's up?" I asked, my tone becoming casual.

I received a heavy sigh from her end before she said, "He just called me." I knew she meant Shay. It was an unspoken understanding between us that when she said "him" it meant Shay, and when I said "her" it meant Santana. It was one of the perks of having a best friend, since our brain waves were in sync or something.

"He did?" I questioned rhetorically. "Well, what'd he want?" A tight, unyielding nervousness started to coil in my stomach, and I felt faint.

"I'm not sure…" Beth trailed off. "He didn't want to get back together with me. That I know for sure." I could just picture the narrowing of her eyes as she said this.

"Did he say he didn't want to get back together with you?" I pointed out, knowing that people had a tendency to contort situations that were too personal._ Boy_ did I know that.

A hesitance, then, "No."

"Then how do you know for sure?" I stressed. Somehow, I felt my attempts at encouraging Beth were more like manipulation. I was picking up a penny and telling her that in a month, it'd be a million dollars. It'd be everything she ever wanted. But it wouldn't be the truth.

"I'm not an idiot, Britt," Beth hissed back. "He didn't have to freaking spell it out for me!"

"Fine," I conceded, irritation lacing into my words. "He doesn't want you."

"Nice," I got back.

We sat there silently for a moment, until I caved and said, "Okay. I'm sorry. What did Shay say that's got you so riled?" I couldn't resist sticking that in there.

"It wasn't exactly what he said. He just…Britt, he _called_ me! Not even a week ago he breaks up with me, and he has the…the _nerve_ to call my house! What a jerk!" she ranted off, headless to the close proximity of my ear to the phone.

I interjected a "yes" and "uh-huh" here and there, waiting for her to calm down so that I could actually figure out exactly why he called. Finally, when my patience was threadbare, I shouted over my friend's voice, "Beth! What. Did. He. Want?"

"To just talk," she answered offhandedly.

"About what?" I asked, feeling like I was goading a stubborn cow along.

"Like I said before, I don't know. It was just…weird. He wanted to talk, but we didn't really get a chance to. First I was too shocked to hold a conversation, and then I was too angry. I kind of just hung up on him."

"Bethany!" I admonished, she hated it when I used her real name.

"Don't call me that" she rushed out.

Rolling my eyes and sighing I said "Don't you want him back? He could've been apologizing. He could've been trying to get on the path to setting things right. I think you royally screwed up."

"I don't want him back!" she screamed at me. We weren't really angry at each other. We were both just frustrated and hurt, and it was so simple to turn on the person closest to you.

"Yes you do!" I shouted.

"No! I _don't!_" she reasserted, her voice already becoming hoarse from all the shrieking.

"Why not?" I asked quietly. "Why don't you want him back? You love him."

"I don't," she whispered tearfully. "I don't."

"You told him that you did. You said you loved him." That feeling in my stomach increased tenfold. I wanted to vomit everywhere, to cough up whatever was blocking her and everyone else from telling the truth.

"I lied," she said. And I couldn't fight that.

Beth didn't come to school the next day. I knew she wouldn't be here, yet I kept looking for her wavy hair swishing around the halls. During lunch, I thought of going to the library to eat. I hadn't seen Mrs. Briggs in a long time, since that day Shay invaded my life with that stupid note for Beth. If I had known then he'd break her heart, I would've shoved it down his throat. Despite Beth's divulgence of her supposed 'lie', I couldn't believe, deep down, that she didn't love him. She rarely trusted, but when it did happen, it was quick and blind and so, _so_ real.

I decided against eating in the library. I was tired of facing my past. Heading outside, I sat on one of the benches. I grabbed my sandwich, a book and settled down, molding into the seat like I was nothing.

A tapping on my shoulder caused me to jump, sending the other half of my meal towards the gritty ground. "Sorry, Britt," said that horribly wonderful voice.

I looked at Santana, as she uselessly tried to salvage my food. "Don't worry about it," I mumbled, somewhat embarrassed.

She dropped it back down and sat next to me, twiddling her thumbs. "Did you need something?" I asked, my tone coming out more biting than I intended.

Santana's brow creased for a second, while her eyes flashed. She opened her mouth to say something, but I beat her to the punch. "Where's Shay?"

She looked a bit surprised, before responding slowly, "Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Shay?" I responded, confused.

"Yeah," she muttered almost bitterly. "Him."

"Well…what about him?" I wondered what she could possibly want to know from me, when she was Shay's best friend. I wasn't really anything to Shay at all. Or to Santana, for that matter… except maybe a mistake.

I silently reminded myself that Santana and I were destined for each other, and not even a screw-up like me could ruin that. Fate was not to be meddled with.

"He called Beth," She informed me.

"So I've heard," I said dryly. "Believe me, I know more than enough about that."

She nodded a few times. "He wants to fix things."

"Like get back together with Beth?" I tried to clarify.

"No. I don't think so, but he wants to be her friend. Shay really likes Beth; he's just not ready for that kind of relationship."

I felt the hairs on my neck rise in defense for my friend. "Well great. Maybe he should've thought of that before he asked _my_ best friend to be his girlfriend. What did he _think_ she'd fall into?_Hate_?"

"Whoa. I'm not here to talk about why he wanted to go out with her. That's his business." The way she said that triggered my memory of our double date, how incredulous Santana had been about Shay's attraction to Beth. I remembered further, to when Beth had questioned Shay's motives for asking her out. All these little things clotted in my mind, making it hard to breath and think at the same time.

I sneered at Santana. "That's right. I had almost forgotten. Shay and Beth were never equal in your eyes."

Santana rolled her eyes at me. "Britt, stop dragging up the past, will you? That's not the point. It isn't important anymore."

"That's rich," I muttered. "Here you are preaching to me about second chances, but the past isn't important. Isn't the past the _reason_ for second chances?"

Santana scowled at my comment, a bit befuddled. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about your mother!" I shouted, letting it explode out of me. I slapped a hand over my gaping mouth, not believing I had just said that.

"My _mother_?" she growled gutturally. "What does Shay and Beth have to do with my mother? Why are you bringing up my mother? I don't even have one anymore!"

"You do," I whimpered. Suddenly, I jumped up and pointed a finger in Santana's chest, ignoring the warmth I received. "Answer me this, were you ever going to tell me that your mother was in town? Well, were you?"

When she didn't respond, I continued on. "Santana, you told me that when my mom died, it was like losing another mother for you. Well, same here. I was hurt when your mom left, just like you. And you didn't think to come and talk to me when she came back?"

Flicking away my hand, she started pacing. "Well it looks like I didn't need to! She has obviously already brainwashed you into helping her out. Tell me how it was Brittany, to see a ghost. You guys got buddy-buddy, right? Did you forget everything she did to you and did to me? If you really felt the way I did when she left, you wouldn't be doing this now. You wouldn't be asking me to…to let her back into my life."

"Why not?" I asked her with an incredulous air. "At least you still have a mother!"

She jerked to a stop and glared at me. "Don't play that stupid pity party on me."

I grimaced at her words, feeling the sting of her remark like a nasty slap. "That wasn't my point Santana. It's not about me. It never was. This thing with Beth and Shay, it's not _about_ me. This thing with your mother and you, it's _not_ about me."

"Then stop acting like it is!" she stressed, waving around her hands. Her brow was knitted into an angry wrinkle that would be permanently creased on her forehead in twenty years.

"I'm not," I denied with a small voice. My weakness was beginning to show through; I couldn't be strong anymore. Not to say that I ever was, but maybe once I had been under that illusion.

"You are," Santana insisted. She pierced my gaze with her own in a way that made me want to melt in on myself like the wicked witch she seemed to think I was.

"I'm not picking sides," I continued on, trying to rectify the situation just a smite bit. "I—I want you to be happy, however 'canned' that sounds. Perhaps it doesn't feel right to accept your mom back into your life now but…" I stopped, unsure of how to continue. Why was I fighting this? Was it really any of my business? Santana didn't think so, and it dawned on me fully that she didn't want or even need my help.

I looked up, feeling the tears start to well in my eyes. My lip quivered in an attempt to halt that oncoming rain. Santana stared at me expectantly. "You know what?" I said bitterly. "Your right."

Grabbing my backpack, I left. My gut wretched into a horribly twisted and tangled knot. As I stormed away, wiping furiously at the tears flowing, something peculiar dawned on me. There was a missing piece from how this argument ended as compared to the way my arguments with Santana usually ended up. And that missing component was guilt. I felt oddly liberated, though the tears kept pouring.

Liberation indeed.

The remainder of my week followed in a rather anticlimactic way, considering all the excitement that had preceded it. Santana refused to talk to me, not that I was seeking her company in any way. In fact, I was sure our relationship was worse now than it had been when we modeled indifference. At least then, I could pine with my overwhelming sense of remorse, longing and I guess, idolizing. That was all gone now. Santana was thrown from her pedestal, and I was oddly numb.

I thought of Beth's love for Shay. There was no doubt in my mind that she had loved him, but love was as varying as the people who professed it. She loved him for calling her beautiful, and for giving her the time of day, and for really seeing her. She loved him because he was her first date, first kiss, first boyfriend…and first heartbreak. But none of these loves were sturdy or eternal.

I loved Santana too, for being that little girl who dealt with my overactive imagination, and who played with me in the sandbox. She was the child who would race me and always win. Back then I was the perfect companion. I loved that Santana, but she wasn't that kid anymore. I almost felt foolish for loving my past simply because the present seemed so unbearable. I needed someone to yearn for because it was impossible to have my mother back. I distanced Santana and used her to distract me from my other loss, my greater one.

I didn't know Santana anymore, and it scared me. I wanted to want her; I _needed_ to. But suddenly, I couldn't make myself feel what I used to feel for so long.

Lounging in my room, I heard the doorbell ring. It was Beth, come to give me my birthday gift early. It was spring break this upcoming week, which meant a bittersweet parting from Santana for nine days. Beth and her mother were traveling to Mexico for a long overdue mother-daughter vacation. I was already jealous of the light hearted days she'd get to experience, and the tan she'd undoubtedly gain. I was also happy for my best friend; she needed some R&R away from this horrible town.

"Hey-hey. What's up?" she greeted me, her tone unusually jovial.

I shrugged noncommittally. "Same as always. My dad's not here."

"I saw that," she offered. "His car wasn't in the driveway."

"Don't know where he is," I said. "Don't care."

With a quick nod, Beth changed topics by dragging me back towards my room. Her fingers clenched around my arm as I resisted her efforts for no other reason than to be difficult. "Come on! I want to give you your gift."

We settled on my messy bed, shoving aside my comforter that was all twisted up.

"Kay," Beth giggled at me in excitement. She shoved her gift into my hands, silently demanding I open the present at that precise moment, if not a minute earlier. It was delicately wrapped in purple paper printed with party confetti. Ribbons spilled across the top, and I hesitated to destroy something so lovely. Things were so much simpler skin-deep.

"It's pretty," I murmured to myself, smiling slightly and wondering at how foreign it felt.

"Well the general idea is to open it," she told me sarcastically.

Glaring at her, I clawed at the paper with my nails and ripped it angrily apart. Beth shifted back an inch and raised a curious eyebrow at me. "Thought it'd be less painful in one blow," I explained to her. She shook her head at my bitterness, and I glanced down to see what she gave me. My gaze met a generic brown box. "Ah, more layers," I noted.

"Yep," she laughed. "Got to make it a little bit hard for you, otherwise opening a gift is a total letdown."

Silently, I picked at the tape. My concentration was elsewhere, years back. Parties with happy mommies and daddies, streamers being taped unsuccessfully to the cleaning and curse words slipping accidentally from parents' lips. Counting presents, peaking inside bags, drooling at the cake, waiting unsuccessfully on the couch for friends to arrive. These memories swarmed my thoughts and my eyes prickled irritatingly.

The box came open. Inside were several items, but my attention was directed to the pink fuzzy one. Gingerly, and not really pleased, I plucked it out. "_What_ is this?" I asked, already knowing.

In my hands was an overly girly phone, covered in pink fur and embroidered on the back with the word 'princess'. "You have got to be kidding me."

Beth burst out laughing, intertwining her snickering with more than a few snorts. "I…saw it…at…the store…and I had to...to…get it for you," she gasped out.

"Honestly child," I said demeaning, but all in good fun, "What were you thinking?"

"You broke your phone in that fit of rage you had, and I figured this one was safer since it's- lined with this expensive looking fur. I think it might be goat fur or something."

"Oh, so you're trying to look out for me in case I have future 'fits of rage' as you so kindly put it?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly."

I rolled my eyes in an exaggerated manner. "And it's not goat fur." Peering inside the box, I found that Beth had also bought me a CD and a gift certificate for a manicure.

"Treat yourself while I'm away," she explained to me.

"Believe me, I will."

We decided to watch a movie that night. She had to leave soon because of her early flight, so we chose a Disney film. It was fun and made us light hearted to sing along to all the songs, and we belted them out loud enough for my entire neighborhood to hear. It was a good night.

"Are you going to be okay while I'm gone?" Beth asked me as she fiddled with her keys, standing by my front door.

"I don't think I'll even notice you're gone," I teased back in a flippant manner.

She grinned at me. "Love you too," she added before enveloping me in a hug and then leaving me. I had wanted to ask her about Shay, and to tell her about what had happened with Santana on Wednesday. It was almost deceitful of me not to. I just couldn't bring myself to send her to Mexico on a bad note.

It was only nine o'clock when she headed home, and I was too antsy to remain inside my house. Deciding to take a walk, I grabbed a sweater and made my way outside. My dad was pulling up just as I reached the sidewalk, so I stopped. Turning off the engine, he stepped from the car, barely glancing at me. Strangely embarrassed, I turned my back towards him.

Baby steps, lining heel to heel, I walked. Inwardly, I was waiting for his demand to know where I was off to. The front door slammed, tearing yet another invisible string that bound us together. It was almost funny how much I cared and how much that told me he did too, when we didn't even know how to say hello. Instead we opted for soundless goodbyes.

Wandering through the night, my feet carried me away and towards the park, and somehow I was met in between. I didn't know she'd be there, but she was. I wouldn't call it a coincidence or a sixth sense. It wasn't a right time, right place or a gut feeling. Maybe, in being neither it was both.

"Santana," I mumbled, my words as soft as a hidden smile.

She jerked her head up, clearly shocked to see me here when she was there. "Britt," she uttered back.

"What are you doing?" I questioned while plopping into the swing adjacent hers.

"Thinking, I guess."

"You guess you're thinking?" I joked.

"No. I am."

"I am too," I offered back.

"Thinking?" she asked.

Laughing lightly, I signaled yes. "What you thinking about?"

"Marie," she revealed.

"Your mother, huh."

"No," she asserted tersely. "Marie."

"Okay," I whispered. Pumping my legs, I began to climb with my swing.

"Britt," came Santana's voice. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about her."

I dragged my feet along the ground to stop myself and glanced at her. She looked so earnest, and I felt guilty for nagging her about it in the first place. Apologies always made me feel like such a jerk, as if it were my fault for whatever mess had caused the argument in the first place. I squirmed in discomfort, saying, "It's okay. I overreacted to begin with. It's not my right to tell you what to do with your life."

She half smiled, half grimaced back at me, almost as if she was displeased with my answer. "Yeah…" she trailed off.

"Do you mind if I ask you how you feel about this whole situation?"

"Well…I like being your friend again, and I'm hoping that we can remain that way," Santana said.

I flinched at her words. _Remain that way_. Then I wrinkled my eyebrows in confusion. "Not about us. I mean, how do you feel about...Marie coming back?"

To my utmost confidence, I'm sure Santana blushed, but the fading light prevented me from knowing for sure. "Oh," she mumbled at me. Scratching her head, she finished, "I'm frustrated. I don't want her back in my life. It's so much easier for me if I don't have to deal with her."

I didn't respond to her when she gazed solemnly at me. Her eyes darted towards the street with a look of contemplation. Perhaps she was wondering if it would be simpler to book it down that road than to sit here, on our childhood swings, in the darkness.

She started again, "I figure I have two choices. I can forgive her, or I can choose not to forgive her. Whatever I decide to do stems from there. I know she's sorry, in some ways, but I also know that she likes her life now. And I'm wondering, if everything is so damn perfect for her, why does she have to come here and screw around with me?"

"Maybe she wants reconciliation," I tried to help.

She scoffed at me. "_Reconciliation_. I bet. Right her wrongs before karma drives her off a bridge one day."

I watched her there, swaying slightly on her swing with feet digging rifts in the sand. With her hair free flowing, eyes downcast, shoulders slumped and hands clenched tightly around the metal chains she made a perfect picture of the defeated little girl I once knew. I could see in that moment, the similarities of the old and new Santana, similarities that told me I did still love her.

I was so confused.

"Santana, you know how people change?"

She stared at me like I was an idiot, but decided to play along anyways. "Yeah."

"How much do they change?" I asked in a tiny voice, feeling the embarrassment of my situation flame up my body.

"I'm not sure I know what you're asking. People change different amounts. Just look at Michael Jackson," she laughed.

I smiled slightly, not willing to be deterred. "I was just wondering how people stay friends for so long when they're always changing. I mean, what if one person changes too fast for the other? Or what if they change in different ways, and then it's impossible to stay together? Or even worse, what if one person's changed and you can see them moving away from you, but that person doesn't care enough to try and stop it?" I was disheartened with the way my words were coming out. It was so clear in my head, but I couldn't vocalize what I wanted her to understand. "I'm not making much sense, am I?"

"Not really," She admitted wryly.

I slipped off my swing and squatted on the ground, pondering over how I could explain this to Santana. Suddenly, I leaped up and made a grab at her. "Come on; I'll show you." She followed me as I raced across the small park. We came upon a concrete trail that led from the park throughout the neighborhood. To the side of one slab, two messy, small handprints were impressed into the pavement. I knelt down and tried to fit my left hand into the imprint. My fingers curled inward over the roughness. Turning my gaze on Santana, I said, "My hand won't ever fit again."

Beside me, she was mimicking my actions by placing a hand upon her own handprint. "Of course not. We grew up," she said carelessly.

I lifted my hand up and placed my palm towards her. She seemed to understand what I wanted, and placed her palm against mine. Her hands were slightly smaller than mine. I glanced back at the hands on the pavement. "Our hands were the same size back then," I explained, gesturing.

"Brittany, what are you trying to say? I don't want to get the wrong idea here. Do you think we shouldn't be friends because I have smaller hands?" Her tone was incredulous and annoyed. I raised my other hand to Santana's face, gliding my fingers across her jaw line. My eyes fluttered closed, and I tried to picture that girl I knew so long ago. But I couldn't because it was a woman's face I was touching.

"I'm saying," I began, while shifting away from her slightly, "that I remember the girl with that handprint there." I pointed at the path. "But her hands are so different now that I'm not sure I recognize them anymore."

Santana remained silent for a moment. "Then don't look there," she whispered, lifting my head up. "Look here." I gazed strongly into her eyes. Their sparkling depths were so open and intense. I darted my glance away, but she tapped my chin to bring back my focus.

"So you don't think friends can change and become too far apart?" My heart swelled inside, pounding insistently against my chest.

"I think they can," she admitted.

"But then, how can you be so sure…" I never finished my sentence, as Santana leaned up slightly and pressed the swiftest, sweetest kiss upon my lips. A kiss of friends, not lovers.

She touched my forehead slightly with hers afterwards, and then leaned back on her heels. "Gut feeling I guess." She grabbed my hand to lift me off the ground. "I'll walk you home."

But in reality, I floated.

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**Let me know what you think :)**


	14. Happy birthday

**Hey guys! Ok let me clear a few things up.. the kiss was Brittany letting herself think it was a kiss of friends and not lovers, it's Brittany being stubborn and not letting herself feel what she really wants to feel, Remember this whole fic is from Britt's POV. Also Santana is staying really calm at the moment with Brittany and her little outbursts but don't worry, Santana can only take so much before she reacts ;) **

**As always thanks to my loyal readers and reviewers, and thanks for all the new favourites and follows.**

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I woke up to the sound of children playing in the street. No matter how deep I stuffed my head into my pillow, I could not escape the annoying dance their shrill voices waltzed around me. Early afternoon, too, played its role in wakening me from the heavy slumber that left puffy eyes and a hoarse throat in its wake. I stretched my sore muscles, immediately begrudging the fact that my actions did nothing to bid away grogginess. Struggling to read my digital clock in the fairly bright light, I learned that it was 11:30. I had once again slept away my morning.

For some reason, I could not shake the feeling that today I was supposed to feel different. That tug of recollection pulled at the back of my mind, but I still could not remember. In my state of sleepiness, I did my best to sort through possibilities. It didn't have to do with Beth, because she was gone on vacation. It didn't have to do with Santana, because I hadn't seen her since Friday. Clearly she was taking not only a break from school, but also from me.

What was today? I asked myself.

Today was Wednesday. Wednesday, Wednesday…

Wednesday—my birthday, I realized with a start. The quick rush of excitement I felt at figuring things out immediately vanished. Today was my birthday; I was seventeen. More like seventeen hundred, actually.

Birthdays always depressed me because it was like this mocking reminder that my family didn't really care. It reminded me each year of how my mother always planned my parties, and how she woke me up at the crack of dawn to sing happy birthday. I wouldn't have slept into 11:30 if my mother were around. I wouldn't have been woken up by stupid, irritating kids who were enjoying life, while I marked another year of emptiness.

This year was even worse because Beth was gone. My only link to celebration was celebrating elsewhere, with a mother who loved her endlessly.

Stumbling down the stairs, I scratched my head and tousled my frizzy hair. Suddenly my world started to tunnel, as light-headedness overtook my mind. I lost feeling in my limbs and jerked awkwardly, a loud clunk sounding as some part of my body collided with the wall. I thought then, _maybe this is it_. _Maybe for my birthday I'm getting a pity gift_. _I could see my mother again. I could be loved._ But as my senses returned I realized that my temporary loss of control was simply a result of lying down for too long and getting up too fast. You just can't take things quickly; you need time to adjust. But two years wasn't enough time for me to adjust to losing Santana and my mother. Five years wasn't enough time for Santana to understand her mother's abandonment. A month was too quick for Shay to earn Bethy's love. And this morning, a few minutes wasn't adequate time for me to accept that I was seventeen and not even I gave a damn.

I carefully rubbed the side of my head that had crashed with a picture on the wall. I glanced at the offending frame. Picture-perfect behind a shield of glass sat the eternally joyful faces of my family, back when we were whole. My mother's arms were squeezed around my shoulders, as my sister sat primly beside us, trying to hide the fact that she was actually enjoying herself. My father was kneeling next to my mother and me; he didn't smile but his eyes twinkled with a light that bespoke utter contentment. They said, "Things can't get any better than this." They were right; they never did. Some stranger took that photo—a heavy-set woman with a boisterous laugh. I remember wondering back then, on that day at the beach, if she was jealous of my family. I hoped she wasn't, for her sake.

My fingers ran softly across the smooth, red wood that framed this memory. I snatched it off the wall, suddenly enraged by how fake it all seemed. I turned it around so that the velvety back faced me. My touch caressed the soft fibers. How luxurious it felt beneath my skin. I placed the picture against the stairwell, so that I couldn't see those smiling faces. I didn't want to remember what I was missing, but I didn't know how to move forward when everything good I'd ever known was behind me.

It wasn't enough for me to go downstairs anymore and pretend like it was another day. I could not eat another bowl of cereal, while browsing another day's morning paper. I was seventeen.

I was seventeen; I was nothing. How interchangeable those two seemed to me now.

Crawling up to my room, I slammed shut my window, pulled my blinds tightly closed and drowned myself in bed sheets. This was how my family celebrated, by hiding and pretending and being exactly what we didn't want to be, unhappy. If I had the strength I would've blown up a balloon, a bright orange one. But my family's strength combined wasn't even enough to fill that balloon.

A soft buzzing roused me once again from my sleep. For once, I had been dreaming of something nice. It left a smile upon my face that slipped away easily as I absorbed my surroundings. I could barely make out the sound of a car door shutting, and the gunning of an engine as it drove away.

Wrinkling my brow, then running heavy fingers over it, I waded my way out of my bed, slowly this time. Carefully, I headed downstairs and towards the front door, sure by now that the buzzing I heard was the doorbell. Sure enough, something awaited me outside. It was a tiny little package nicely wrapped and topped with a generic bow. Beneath the gift was a card.

My heart started beating wildly as I anticipated whom this gift was from.

I was not disappointed.

The front of the card was a black and white picture of a woman walking alone on the beach. The wind cast her hair to the side, and sandals dangled from one hand. With her back facing the picture, she looked calmed, as if she had no cares to the mysteries that lie before.

Gently, I opened it, feeling sick with desire to know what was written to me—for me. There were no pre-printed messages of sentiment. Instead, only the neatly scrolling of Santana's hand wrote:

Brittany,

You are sweeter still at seventeen.

Love,

Santana

Reading this, I felt emotion clogging my throat, making it difficult to breathe.

I slipped inside, fingering the bow that sat on top. As I made my way towards the couch, my mind raced with all the possibilities of gifts inside. What could a girl who had been alienated from me for so long possibly think to give? My hands continued to dance around the package, smoothing over the paper and curling within the ribbon; I traced the rough edge of a taped end. Finally, I dug in, picking at the seams until suddenly an unrevealing black box peeked through. I smiled.

I opened the top of the box, and pulled out the tissue paper that padded my surprise. Inside was the most beautiful necklace I had ever seen, with two diamonds on the front. Cupping it in my heads, I marveled at how the shiny silver reflected the daylight. Turning it around, I stopped at the imperfection marring the other side of my gift, only to realize that I had not discovered a scratch but rather an inscription. It simply read, Britt-Britt.

The sound of keys pulled me from the joyful moment. Wondering whom it could be, I situated myself properly on the couch, sitting straight up with shoulders back. In walked Amelia, carrying Emily rather ungracefully in her right arm, with a car seat banging against the walls in her left.

"Britt, thank God you're home!" she enthused, sounding thoroughly relieved.

"What's up?" I drawled.

She set down the car seat, and fiddled with her bangs, tucking them behind her ear. "I need you to watch Emily for me, okay? Thanks," she said to me, not waiting for a yes or no.

I picked myself up and trotted towards my niece, placing an eager look of excitement upon my face for her benefit. "Hey there cutie!"

She giggled at me and stretched out her arms. Amelia didn't hesitate to deposit her child within my embrace. "She hasn't been fed yet," my sister stated. "She hasn't been eating much lately, but there's cheerios in the bag if you want to try."

I stared stupidly at my sister, not believing what she was telling me. "Have you taken her to the doctor?"

"No, why?"

"She could be sick!" I tried to say calmly, wanting to tear her hair out and kick her in the face.

"She doesn't have any signs of sickness, Britt. Chill out. She just doesn't want to eat. At least I won't have a fat baby."

I gasped at her, and snapped, "You better go. Your haircuts and manicures and shopping for shoes await you. So leave. The things that really matter in life will be waiting for you when you get back."

"Thanks!" she smiled happily at me, not registering a word I had just said. "You're a doll."

As she made her way to the front door, I called after her, "Happy Birthday, right?"

Laughing, Amelia tossed her hair over her shoulder as she looked at me. "What do you mean? It's not my birthday."

"I know," I mumbled back.

Sniffing, my sister gave me an annoyed look and said condescendingly, "You're so strange Britt." Then she left.

I brought a finger under Emily's chin to tickle her, and she giggled delightfully while trying to avoid my touch. "Tickle, tickle," I cooed at her.

Amelia had not left me any toys to entertain her daughter with, so I picked the child up gingerly and carried her towards my room. I plopped her playfully on my bed, and she quickly lost herself amongst the tangle of sheets and pillows. The corners of my lips curved up fondly at the sight.

I wondered if I had any toys left from my childhood and began digging through the old boxes in my closet in search of some. An unmarked cardboard box sat suspiciously in the shadowed back, and I struggled to slip it from its place. A puff of dust billowed in my face, as I tightened my puny arm muscles and pulled, pulled, pulled the box from its corner. It was amazingly heavy, and I pondered at what memories were stored in such a container. Finally, after multiple failed attempts, the box squished free from my closet and landed unceremoniously upon my chest. Emily fell over herself giggling, already finding humor in other's mishaps, despite her young age. A happy baby giggle sounded throughout my room.

I wrinkled my nose in distaste and muttered, "Nice." The laughing did not stop.

Heaving, I lifted the deadweight box onto my bed, next to Emily. She ran her soft, small hands over the battered cardboard with curiosity. "What could be in here?" I mumbled to her, smoothing my hand over her angelic wisps of hair. She squatted, unsure, on my bed and put her ear against the box. Eyeing my camera sitting upon my dresser, I reached towards it, with care taken to not disturb this moment. Quietly, I captured my niece listening, waiting, and knowing that something was in store for her. It made me wonder, where along the path of my life did I forget about patience.

"Shall we open it?" I chirped, and Emily peered at me with open, anticipative eyes. I picked at the tape blocking my memories, until it gave way to my persistence. As I slid the lid off, Emily dumped her face inside, absorbing all she could. She plopped back on my bed with a small, stuffed bear in her clutch. I recollected winning the animal at the county fair one year. Around it's neck was a plump purple bow. "Her name is Lilac," I told Emily, as she studied the animal curiously.

"Mine," she told me.

Shaking my head with laughter, I said, "Maybe you're more like Amelia than I care to admit."

Digging through my childhood, I marveled at the items my mother had stashed away for me. Papers and drawings from school, random findings from outside, ticket stubs from movies and amusement parks, t-shirts from summer camp, ribbons from the little league sports I'd participated in, all these things filled my mind and spun around my heart. I hardly noticed the goofy grin that settled perpetually upon my lips. I picked up an envelope from my box and slipped its contents onto my bedspread. A pile of photographs spilled forth, and I eagerly collected them up. Flipping through the pictures, I stopped at one of Santana and me. A gentle blush spread across my cheeks at the sight of us giving cheeky smiles at the camera, in a bathtub. My stained cheeks darkened as I briefly wondered what a similar situation would be like now.

I flipped further through the pictures, coming across another of Santana and me. In this one, I was sitting upon a swing and Santana was hovering over my shoulder. I remembered clearly this day, playing in the park. I had wanted my mother to push me on the swing, but reliable Santana had taken the task upon herself. I remember soaring to heights that seemed unfathomable. My mother was always careful with how high she'd send her precious daughter, but Santana was different. She wanted me to fly.

I bit my lip thoughtfully, and then began stuffing everything back into the box. "We're going on a little trip," I cooed to Emily, who had abandoned my stuffed bear and was now picking up scattered papers and tossing them around the room. I grabbed some from her tight, small fists and put these away also.

She startled when I picked her up, and began crying loudly. "It's okay honey," I repeated over and over. "Shhhhh …" I begged. She continued to sob as I delicately took the stairs and then began buckling her in her baby carrier. When we had settled into my old car, she quieted down some. I quirked my lip in befuddlement.

As we neared our destination, my palms began to stick uncomfortably to the steering wheel. I rubbed them, one at a time, against my jeans. The back of my neck burned, and my brain automatically began scanning driveways and intersections for their accessibility to u-turns. This trip to see Santana didn't feel like a visit; it felt like confrontation.

Her black truck sat ominously in the driveway, watchful of my approach. I parked further away than was necessary so that any passing inhabitants of Santana's house wouldn't see me outside their home. Emily cuddled into my arms once I'd unbuckled her, and I made slow, somewhat steady progress towards the front door. It took me nearly a minute to gather courage enough to knock.

As heavy footsteps sounded inside, my gut wretched, and I mentally berated it for being so sissy. There was no logical reason to be anxious of encountering Santana, and yet I was incredibly nervous.

The door squeaked and Santana was revealed.

"Britt, um, hey," she said, sounding either surprised or irritated. I couldn't tell.

"Hi," I repeated back. "I just wanted to thank you … for my gift."

Santans nodded at me with a small smile, still not inviting me in. Emily began chanting, "Hi, hi, hi, hi, hi," beside me.

Looking curiously at her, she brushed her fore and middle fingers against her soft cheeks with one hand. My heart turned a little at the sweetness of the sight. It endeared her a bit more to me, as impossible as that sounds. "You babysitting?" she asked me, snapping her gaze towards me.

"Yeah," I whispered. Suddenly my heart was pounding, reverberating in the neck and pulsing at my temple. "Um, Amelia just left her with me. Didn't even remember it was my birthday," I rambled off.

"She didn't?" she asked.

I shook my head and shrugged. "My family isn't so close anymore." She knew that already, but I felt obligated to say it anyways, to reason it all out.

"Well, not everyone is so forgetful," Santana offered, somewhat coyly.

I smiled brightly at her. "You're right. Thank you for the necklace. It was a great gift."

She laughed at that. "Don't you mean useless?"

"No," I grinned back. "I love it."

Her laughter quieted at that, leaving us in unexpected silence. I wracked my mind for things to say, conversation to make, but was politely saved by a shrill, happy scream sounding from down the hallway. Not five seconds later, there was a surprisingly strong grip around my waist.

"Brittany!" Mia shouted. "You're here!"

"Yeah," I giggled.

Upon seeing Emily, Mia's eagerness grew. "Oh, oh! Can I hold her?" she begged of me, already trying to pry the baby from my arms.

"Careful sweetie," I stressed. Emily was set down on her feet, and Mia was doing her best to coax the almost two-year-old away towards the family room.

I looked at Santana and asked, "Is Emily safe with her?"

She grinned back at me. "Safe physically anyways. I can't speak for all the ideas Mia will try to install into your niece though."

"Hmmm … oh well."

By default, Santana now had to ask me inside. We wandered upstairs into her room, a place I had not seen for over two years. It had changed from a room dedicated to flowers and heart stencils all over the walls to being filled with cheerleading trophies and ribbons everywhere and plain lilac walls.

"You've redecorated," I offered wryly.

She shrugged one shoulder at me. "Not recently. I don't really spend all that much time in here."

I wondered if she had ever brought anyone else in here before, under different pretenses than why I was lingering in her room of course.

I settled myself into her comfy desk chair and let my eyes browse over the things in her room that accumulated into one reflection of her. Her backpack was abandoned in a corner. Her bed was unmade, the sheets turned and twisted as if she had wrestled with them, begging for a good night's rest. There was a picture on her desk, of her father and her camping. They looked dirty and tanned, and like they were having loads of fun. Flitting my eyes around I couldn't find a single mention of Marie or a single remembrance of me. My stomach dropped a little.

Not sure what to say, I began fishing in my purse for the picture I had found in my room.

"Look what I found today," I said, handing her the picture with a hesitant smile.

Santana pondered over it, as if trying to recollect the day it was taken, or the way she felt, or maybe how it was possible that we'd ever been such good friends. "I remember this day," she whispered to me.

"Yeah," I nodded. "It was a fun day."

She bit her lip in silent acquiescence. "I wish there were more days like this."

"Or that we'd stay forever young."

A corner of her mouth turned up.

I laughed lightly, not knowing where to go from here. I remembered Quinn's assumption that Santana had feelings for some girl. A burning desire to know who she was welled up inside of me. My gaze flickered over to Santana, and I found her staring intently at me. My curiosity was bared.

"What?" she asked first.

"I was talking to Quinn a while ago," I started, and Santana flinched at her name. "She told me that… well, that there's a girl you like." I finished speaking with a crimson blush boldly staining my cheeks.

Santana's gaze narrowed in a discerning manner. She seemed to debate how she should respond to my statement. "Yeah, I guess there is."

I don't know why, but I had expected more. I had expected her to spill forth with details: name, number, physical description, and most pathetically, admittance that it was me.

"Why?" she pressed further.

Scratching the back of my neck, I plopped myself down on his bed. "I don't know. We're friends now, and I'm just… curious."

She seemed dissatisfied with my answer, but simply shrugged in acceptance of my explanation. "There's a girl I like," she told me. "So now you know."

I swished my mouth back and forth, contemplating how to word my questions without sounding too interested. I didn't want to bare my soul to her, figuring it would be trampled by reality, by the fact that Santana likely had no feelings for me.

"Do you like anyone?" Santana prodded for answers.

Startled, I whipped my head to gawk at her.

"What?" she said with an indignant half-smile on her lips. "You asked me."

"I—I… yeah. I do," was my hesitant response.

"Well who is it?"

My back tightened up, hairs rising in defense. I wasn't going to tell her. Never. Never. "None of your business." My nose turned up in defiance.

Santana raised an amused brow at me. "You were going to ask me who I liked, weren't you?" When I didn't offer a reply, she continued, "Then, don't you think it's a bit hypocritical to not tell me who you like?"

My brows furrowed with irritation. "You don't know if I was going to ask who you _liked_," I snarled back, my tone demeaning. "Maybe I respect your space."

She gave me a pointed look that basically said she thought I was full of crap.

Huffing, I continued, "Besides, even if I did ask you who the girl was, you more than likely wouldn't have told me. Then who'd be the hypocrite?"

"So we're both hypothetical hypocrites?" she asked, a grin spreading across her face. I enjoyed the laughter that danced in her words; it killed my anger.

I licked my lips, trying to contain the smile that wanted to spill forth. "So if I were to ask you who you liked, would you actually tell me who she was, or would you tell me to mind my own business?"

She chuckled at my careful phrasing. "I suppose if you were to ask who she was, I wouldn't give you a name, since that's only fair. However, I would tell you that she's beautiful, and compassionate and maybe a little shy. We've known each other for some time...since we were little. Back then, I would've given her the world if I could've fit it in the palm of my hand. That really hasn't changed, even now."

My heart starting beating wildly, as she detailed to me her envisions of a girl. _We've known each other for some time_ rang over in my head. That's me, my heart screamed, but my mind countered with an incredulous, don't kid yourself.

"She sounds perfect," I muttered, feeling compelled to offer her something.

She snorted back at me, and I barely caught the smirk that flittered across her mouth. Confusion swept over me. "Hardly," she remarked.

"So she's not that great?" I tried to clarify.

"No, she's wonderful. She's what I want. But she makes mistakes all the time."

"Ah, the whole love 'em despite their flaws."

"Something like that," she whispered softly, her tone thick as honey, saturating my skin and lulling me off to a dreamy place.

I blinked rapidly at her, gently smiling and saying things like, "good" and "that's nice".

"I have a question to ask you, Britt," Santana said to me, pulling me out of my temporary daydream.

"Shoot."

She scratched her head uncomfortably for a moment. "This girl that I like…if I were to tell her the things that I told you, like she's beautiful and stuff, do you think she'd like me back?" Her question was complex and difficult to detangle.

Thinking cautiously, I replied, "What makes you think she doesn't like you already?"

Santana stared at me, burrowing her gaze into my eyes as if trying to read my sincerity. "I don't know," she remarked. "Do you think she does?"

I wrinkled my forehead feeling exhausted all of a sudden. "How should I know? I can only speak for myself, Santana. Not some other girl."

Her mouth hung open for a moment, popping it open as if to speak and then shutting it again. "Right," was all she said.

Finding that I could no longer cope with a perpetual state of awkwardness, I picked myself up from where I had settled on her bed, dusted off my jeans and gave her the it's time for me to leave look. "Thanks again. My gift was… perfect," I said, being the tiniest bit coy.

Santana gave me what I read as a significant glance back and mumbled, "Sure."

"Okay. Well, I'm gonna head home now." She shook her head in response, and followed me out into the hall. Collecting Emily, I slipped into my car, trying not to notice that I was hardly out the door before Santana closed it on my back. She seemed oddly removed in my last moments with her.

As I pulled into my driveway, I saw my father's car already parked there. I huffed once in preparation for going inside, as if my house were the greatest passive-aggressive battlefield in the history of family wars. Something felt different though, when I walked inside with Emily and her luggage balanced precariously off my body.

"Brittany," came my father's voice, from the family room area. It was cold and tense.

"I'm home," I said stupidly.

"Where have you been?" he asked me, like it was a normal thing for him to wonder. It was, for most parents, but not my father.

I paused, slightly taken aback that he cared. "Went over to Santana's."

By now I'd reached my father. He was sitting, with perfect posture, on the couch. He looked irritated, and I knew I'd be treading dangerous waters. The worst of it was that I had no idea what I'd ironically done wrong to make an apathetic man realize he did, actually, have another daughter.

"Dad," I whispered pathetically. "What is it?"

He stared in my direction now, and his eyes noticeably softened at my sight. Or rather, at whom I was holding. "Thank God," he mumbled.

"_Dad_," I stressed again. "What is it? What's wrong?"

He made eye contact with me, and I could see the anger flare in his nostrils and settle permanently upon his wrinkled brow. "Amelia's gone."

"What do you mean gone?" I asked, my voice suddenly hoarse and desperate. "She's gone? Out of town, visiting a friend, lost… dead? Dad, what does that mean!?"

He swallowed with impatience, and took Emily from me. One of his large hands capped her head, caressing the light blonde hair so gently. It broke my heart to see. Had he

* * *

once done that to me? I could barely remember a time when I mattered.

I pulled a spring of my hair and twirled it hopelessly around my finger, recollecting how my mother used to run her long, thin fingers through my ringlets at night.

"We don't know," my father finally said. "She's not answering her cell phone, and she's not at any of the places she usually goes. Mitch said she withdrew a large amount of funds from their savings account a day ago. We think she's run away, and we were… afraid that she'd taken the baby with her." He cuddled Emily closer, trying over and over again to make sure she was real and here.

I sat down, my stomach feeling sick. _Just like Santana's mom,_ ran through my head repetitively._She's just like Marie_.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to turn over the world until I found my stupid, selfish sister and gave her a good punch in the face. I wanted to beat her into a bloody pulp and yell at her, "Was it not enough for you? Did you not see the way Santana died inside after her mother left? Do you want that for your baby? _Your baby!_ Did it not hurt enough to see our mother shrivel away? Do you want to tear apart our family even more, until we're nothing but bitter and hopeless and completely empty?"

I started to cry quietly, running upstairs. Running away, just like my sister and my father. Running away because maybe it was the only thing we, as a family, were really good at. Maybe because we thought if we ran fast enough, our problems wouldn't catch up to us. I just wished my family would realize that _we_ were the problem, running away from life—from the bad and the good, and the people we love.

I didn't know if I could stop running though, any more than my sister and father could. I'd gone so far, distanced myself until love and me were only tiny specks to each other. I just wished Santana was fast enough to catch me… or that she'd even bother to go after me in the first place.

_Here I am Santana, ready to lose the race; ready to let you win. Ready, to let you have me._

* * *

**There you have it! I'm not sure how long I'm gonna make this fic but I have a couple new ideas I've been working on too..keep an eye out ;)**


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